


Aca-demic Arrangements

by dulce_de_leche_go



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: ALLEGEDLY, Acappella AU, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Barista Hermione, Born and raised in East End London, College, Crack, Criminal Hermione, F/F, F/M, Fluff and Crack, Fluff and Smut, He's just a trust fund boy, Hermione has a foul mouth, Improper Use of ASL, Living in a lonely world, M/M, She's just a small town girl, Smut, This Is Why We Can't Have Nice Things, This is basically pitch perfect, homeless hermione, tomione - Freeform, worst song fic ever
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-01-27
Updated: 2018-03-20
Packaged: 2019-03-10 06:47:38
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 16
Words: 41,676
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13496926
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dulce_de_leche_go/pseuds/dulce_de_leche_go
Summary: Primarily Tomione but other pairings will happen.Hermione's just a small town girl, livin' in a lonely world. She took the midnight plane on a journey to LA in order to pursue her dream. What could possibly go wrong? - Not quite a crack!fic. Un-beta'd and rated E for sexual references, situations, explicit encounters of the sexual kind, and a lot of language. An acappella story of aca-love.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> 1.) You probably shouldn't read this.  
> 2.) If you DO read this, please keep in mind that this is nothing but ridiculousness and the closest that I can feasibly come to fluffy stories. This is a de-stressor fic and is NOT TO BE TAKEN SERIOUSLY AT ALL.  
> 3.) Setting is modern AU in a mystical place in Los Angeles, CA that doesn't exist with some of the characters holding true to their countries of origin and others not so much.  
> 4.) This is mainly for my amusement but you're welcome along for the ride.  
> Much Love!  
> Slik
> 
> (Also this fic was originally solely hosted on FFnet but I'm going through my content there and posting it here as well, so this is kind of a repost but I'm scrubbing chapters to try and iron out and fix some things so...it's also kind of not. Anyway, enjoy the crack!fic!)

* * *

 

“Venti, Hermione, _VENTI!_ ”

“Shite.  Yes, yes, sorry, venti— _VENTI._ ”  Hermione grumbled to herself and started over with her hundredth drink order.  If anyone had told her that her pursuit of higher learning was going to land her in a minimum wage coffee shop job as a barista making venti, sugar-free vanilla lattes with soy milk or tall, skinny, hazelnut macchiatos she would have asked someone to put her out of her misery a long, long time ago.

_“Grande, cinnamon dolce latte, no whip.”_

“Hermione!”

“Got it!  I got it!  I got it!”

She took the cup passed over to her and went to work trying to pretend that the humidity wasn’t absolutely destroying her hair.  Hermione brewed and poured, pumped and jiggled all sorts of levers – just _fuck_ , she wasn’t even sure what some of these did still – and made something that she was fairly certain would be considered a cinnamon dolce latte.

Taking the cup in hand and slipping a tiny biodegradable sleeve around it, she swiped her forearm across her brow and huffed.  Hermione squinted at the Sharpie on the cup and blinked out into the late, late, late crowd.

“Uh…Rickle?”  She nudged the drink out onto the pickup station and lingered a moment.  She’d heard some pretty strange names since she came out to LA but that was certainly—

“You mean _Riddle_?”

Hermione startled at the obviously annoyed tone directed towards her.  It wasn’t so much the attitude behind it as it was the rarity of actually being engaged by one of the patrons that entertained the idea of coffee at such a late hour.  “P-pardon?”

A tall man with impossibly dark hair that she suspected was a little too blue to be natural stepped forward.  His lips were pursed slightly and it made his hollow cheeks that much more gaunt, his cheekbones all perfectly sharp and angular.  His skin was light, though not _too_ pale against his most-likely-dyed hair and she noted some interesting looking plugs in the lobes of his ears, black and solid and at least a couple of centimetres in diameter.  Hermione’s eyes scanned over his person and found that he sported broad shoulders for his lean frame and though he looked tired and rumpled in a perspiration dotted, half buttoned button down with sleeves rolled up to his elbows, he was _quite_ striking.

He scowled at her and her examination of him, bothering with no kind of pleasantries. “Riddle.  You mean Riddle.”

Hermione watched him take up the fully recyclable coffee cup and turn it in his hand to scowl at the butchered name on it.  She blinked at the fat black stone sitting atop a band on his middle finger and her eyes wandered down to the inked lines making up a mess of images peppering his exposed arm.  The click of his tongue drew her stare back up to his face and she watched the hollows of his cheeks suck in even more for the barest of seconds in his irritation.

“Bloody arseholes.  Every bleedin’ time—“

_Wait._

_Bloody--_

_Arse--_

_Bleedin’--_

Hermione perked up as if she’d just found a buoy in the middle of the ocean.  There were plenty of people from all walks of life and all cultures where she’d… ‘moved’ to, but this was the first since she’d arrived that she found someone that hailed from her home country.

Perhaps it was the excitement that allowed the words to slip so cheerfully past her lips.  “You’re English!”

Dark eyes darted to her face still looking quite unamused at both the cock up of his name as well as _her_. “Yes.  And?”

Her excitement deflated a bit like a popped balloon complete with the sputtering.  “Ah-well—I—uh.  M-me too.  English also. I am.”

Riddle draped some sort of fuzzy jumper thing he’d been carrying over his other arm over his shoulder instead and brought his cup towards his mouth even as he rose an eyebrow at her ineloquent dialogue. “I’ve noticed.” His tone was dry and tired and he tilted the drink back for a sip—and immediately sneered, swiping a thumb across his lips as if he’d just tasted a literal pile of shit.  “I said _no whip._  The name was clearly wrong but are you really such a daft bint that you can’t even understand a ‘check’ in the box next to ‘ **_no_ ** _whip’_?”

Hermione blinked.

And again.

“S-sorry, did you just call me a ‘daft bint’?” she asked disbelievingly.                                          

Riddle kept doing that scowling thing he’d been doing since he’d been so gracious as to bestow his most royal attention on her.  “ _Yes_ .  And you just so merrily proclaimed that you’re a Brit, so I’m sure you know what it means.  Unless you’re faking that in addition to your apparent inability to _read_.”

Something might have crackled a tad in her head.  “ _Excuse_ me?”

He sighed and leaned in, lowering his voice in a patronizing manner and exaggerating each word with long syllables and massive facial movements.  “Do you need me to translate the picture for you?”

Hermione ran her tongue along the edge of her teeth, fingers digging into the counter until they turned white. The insistent urgings from one of her coworkers and the side eye she’d been receiving from the cashier blurred into the background as she narrowed her gaze on this terribly rude man with his stupidly perfect cheekbones.

_You_ **_need_ ** _this job.  You_ **_NEED_ ** _this job.  You can’t afford to lose another one.  Things are different.  They don’t know you here.  Your shift’s almost over and you can just go…’home’ and sleep it off._

She inhaled deeply and tried her best to exhale the bubbling rage that was circulating through her. “Apologies,” Hermione grit out and reached for his cup, “I’ll make you another—“

Riddle dismissively swatted her reaching hand away.  “No need for that—“ He leaned closer still and squinted at her name tag. “ _—Hermione_ .  I’ll drink _this_ one.  You may want to brush up on your English before your next shift, though.  That, or learn sign language or braille so that you at least have some options so you don’t botch anything _else_ up.”

The something that crackled before now fizzled and popped and completely short circuited in a glorious internal explosion.

It _might_ have been the filter between her brain and her mouth.

“Oh, that won’t be necessary my _Lordship_.  Tonight was simply an accident and I happen to already be multilingual, you see?”

Hermione smiled politely and made a grand motioning gesture towards him that made him tilt his head curiously.

Still smiling, she made a shape at her abdomen with her hands, thumbs and index fingers touching in a sort of diamond shape.  She then moved to hold one hand out before her, open and flat, palm side up, then took the other and made a ‘W’ shape with three fingers before dragging them first from fingertips to heel and then from one side of her palm to the other.

“See? American Sign Language?  Already a thing.”

His narrowed eyes became more squinty and suspicious the wider her smile grew as he obviously had no idea what she’d just said to him.  He furrowed his brow deeply and she shifted to look at the clock on the far wall past his fool head. With a thankful sigh at the fact that she had apparently managed to kill enough time to call this dreadful double shift to a close, she produced an even whiter, more dangerous looking flash of teeth.

“Pleasure speaking with you, _Rickle._  Here’s one from home you might recognize,” Hermione said airily and flicked up an underhand pair of fingers in his direction.  She didn’t bother turning around to see his reaction, entirely uninterested in seeing the look on his prattish face, nor did she even pause in her stride at the irate and repeated call of her name by either of her coworkers.

_Brilliant Hermione._

An irksome little voice nag, nag, nagged at her in her head while she divested herself of her coffee and syrup ridden apron.

_Flipping off a customer and signing that he is a twat waffle is sure to secure this job you so desperately need._

Hermione groaned inwardly and punched out.  She collected her things and snuck out the back door, stealthily avoiding both the angry glares from her fellow employees at her too prompt departure and any possible chance of avoiding the git that had insulted her in the front of the store.  If she were to see him again, being off the clock and all, she might not be able to control the more visceral reaction of a right cross to his jaw that – she was pretty sure – would 100% get her fired…as well as 100% get her incarcerated.

She huffed and scoffed at herself, “Because when the boss hears about this, I’m **_so_ ** still going to have a job…ugh.”

She would look in the paper in the morning.  Right now, she _really_ just wanted to get a bit of shut eye.

With a sag to her shoulders and a shuffle to her step, Hermione trudged down the street to her car where she kept it tucked neatly away from prying eyes as much as she could.  Wrenching the big, steel door of the Town Car open, she shimmied into the back seat, stretching out along its length around the assortment of bags and bundles she had to resort to keeping there before catching her toe in the door handle and tugging it shut behind her.

Hermione wriggled around her belongings, checking all the little suction cups to her fold out screens on the windows to make sure nothing was going to come falling on her face in the middle of the night and scare the bejeebus out of her as they always tried their damnedest to do.  Fluffing one of her well-worn pillows, she spread a blanket over her legs and kicked around until she was as comfortable as she was going to get cuddling her ratty little stuffed cat plush with its ornery looking squashed face.

“We’ll show mum and dad, won’t we, Crookshanks?  We don’t need their help out here…we’ll make it _just_ fine on our own.”  Hermione blinked and sighed at her ‘cat’, gave it a little kiss on the head and wriggled some more until she thought she might be able to nod off.

She sighed.

At least her bench seats were roomy.

 


	2. Chapter 2

Hermione caught a hardy two and a half hours of sleep before she had to wake up and sneak into the women’s showers to start her day of class. 

It was something of a bitch not having easy, immediate access to hot, running water, but she’d perfected the art of dodging the women’s swim team for it most mornings. Sure, she may still not have a blow drier, or really the disposable income right now to get one, and maybe she sometimes nicks that one girl’s. Carrie…Christy? …Cynthia… _ C-word. _ She  _ was  _ a bit of a cunt, what with how she would sometimes screech about her missing blow dryer even though Hermione  _ always  _ put it back, so C-word was  _ clearly _ just overreacting. Nobody minds a wet head so long as you don’t drip on their things, anyway.

In any case, Hermione wrangled her piddly little bit of sleep, worked through her course load for the day, and – unsurprisingly – found herself sitting in her boss’ office now at what should be the start of her evening shift for the day.

Mr. Lockhart was looking at her with that peaceful sort of look he always sported. It was one Hermione thought was terribly out of place for someone that owned a coffee shop and all the stresses that came with it, but it was there.

She swallowed thickly.

“Look, Mister Lockhart—“

He cut her off with a politely raised hand gesturing her to wait.

Her jaw snapped shut and she sat at attention.

“Miss Granger.”

He paused for an awkwardly long moment.

Hermione fidgeted in her seat, eyes darting to the side once or twice before finally, “Mis…ter Lockhart?”

“ _ Miss _ Granger,” he said again at length and with more emphasis. He stopped once more after speaking her name and leaned toward her, blue eyes glittering.

Her brow furrowed and she found herself leaning forward as well. 

“ _ Missss- _ ter Lockhart?”

There was another  _ strange _ stretch of silence between them that hung in the air so long she opened her mouth to say something but he chose that precise instant to sit back once more in his chair and plant both of his hands on his desk with a resounding  **_SLAP!_ **

“Miss Granger, Miss Granger, Miiiiiiiiiiss  _ Gran-GER. _ ”

Hermione’s confusion was bleeding into a scowl.  _ Now he was just being  _ **_weird._ **

“ _ Look _ ,” she said again, irritation creeping into her tone. “Mister Lockhart, if this is about last night, I’m sorry.”

He was staring; it was unsettling.

“…and it will never happen again.”

His head tilted like a bird’s and Hermione admired the way his curly blond locks held their perfect form.

“…pinky swear?” She wiggled one of her little fingers at him and all of a sudden he guffawed so loudly and suddenly it startled her all the way back into her seat.

“Miss Granger, let me be frank with you. I haven’t the slightest idea of what you’re referring to.”

Hermione’s mouth popped open in a tiny  _ ‘o’ _ and she had just a second to start looking relieved when he continued.

“And  _ frankly _ , I don’t really want to know. What concerns me – today at least – is this.”

And she found an interesting little stack of papers being slid her way across his desk.

At first, Hermione’s furrowed brow deepened, trying to make out what exactly all this paperwork was about because – Lord knows she didn’t have enough bloody papers to examine on a daily basis – but when it finally clicked, that furrow turned to something that may have resembled cold, horrifying dread.

“Mister Lockhart, I can explain—“

“Miss Granger, I run a reputable establishment here—”

“Yes, sir, but—“

“I fulfill the needs of the community by making sure they are routinely caffeinated—“

“I understand, sir—“

“—consistently full of locally sourced baked vittles—“

“Yes, I know, but—“

“—unencumbered by their spare change by providing them with opportunities to frivolously consume a multitude of unnecessary java options that continue to stimulate their chemical dependency on overpriced beverages—”

“Wait, what?”

“—so I’m sure you can understand that in order to remain in business I cannot knowingly be employing someone in your particular situation.”

Hermione, having been a little lost up to that point, straightened and tried to contain her frantic panic. She  _ really _ didn’t want to go through the process of finding another job. Background checks were getting harder and harder to ‘circumvent’ –  _ read: falsify _ – and, as was evident from the appearance of the stack of papers before her, could end up biting her in the ass anyway.

“Oh,  _ no, _ Mister Lockhart,  _ please. _ Just let me explain. It wasn’t even a felony—I mean, it was just a minor offense  _ really— _ “

“ **_Miss_ ** Granger.” The man cut off her babbling before it could get much further. “I am not talking about your criminal record – I actually  _ can’t  _ fire you for that… although I will admit to being a bit curious as to how you managed to fit a pipe  _ there _ —“

“Copious amounts of thick, water-based lubricant.” Hermione paused, eyes widening a bit, then said, “Allegedly.”

“ _ Really _ ? That poor man must have had some interesting movements afterwards.”

“Yeah…” A grin spread slowly across her face as she got caught up in a memory. “Must have. He loved it though – the pipe, not the movements – entirely consensual, that bit. There was a jealous someone in the mix that filed the complaint and a court debacle and—” Hermione stopped her rambling again and coughed. “Allegedly.”

Mr. Lockhart blinked at the girl then cleared his throat. “Anyway…from this file of…past incidents, while several of them were very concerning—“

Hermione looked over at the new one he seemed to be focusing on very intensely and hurriedly pointed to another spot on the sheet. “I was acquitted!“

He gave her a look. “—the main thing that may be of most immediate concern is the fact that you are, by definition, homeless.”

She blinked. 

There was a long moment of confusion as she stared at the very serious face of her manager before finally asking, “What?”

“Unless you happen to be  _ allegedly _ homeless as well?”

“Uh…”

“Because I’m fairly certain this address is actually the recycling plant down the road.”

“Um.”

“With a suite number attached to it.”

Hermione scrunched her nose and even as he was continuing, she flapped a hand at him and bade him to stop. 

“Wait, wait, wait. So…you might have to fire me because I’m homeless and  _ not _ because I shoved a pipe up my ex’s arse and then spanked him with it?” She blinked. “Allegedly.”

“Yes.” Mister Lockhart blinked as well. “Allegedly.” Then he tilted his head again in confusion. “No, wait, not allegedly. I can’t just employ a homeless person. That is fact.”

“Ah.” She nodded and sat back in her chair as she processed that. “Well. Right then. That’s that, I suppose.” Hermione sat forward again suddenly. “I mean, is that like a  _ law _ or—“ At another  _ look _ she sat back in her seat once more. “Okay.”

A long, very strange, very awkward silence filled the space between them once more – really the man was a king of awkward silence – then Mr. Lockhart sighed.

“Hermione.”

She perked up.

“You seem like a nice girl.”

Her face morphed into a look of astonishment for  _ just  _ a moment before she stifled it.

“Do you like working for me?”

Hermione’s eyes widened and her mouth flapped several times before stammering, “A-a-a-absolutely, Mister Lockhart! I love it! The late shifts, the leaving here smelling like a combination between roasted beans, sour milk, and an amalgamation of different saccharine sweet syrups and all the whipped cream that somehow manages to get in my shoes, the blister that still hasn’t quite healed from knocking the side of that molten hot carafe, I mean… **_YES_ ** . I love this job! I absolutely love this job! Who wouldn’t love this job?” She flashed him the widest smile she could muster and added hastily, “Please don’t fire me, sir, I need this job. I mean, I NEED this job.”

The man sighed and shook his head. 

“Alright, here’s the deal. I’ll keep you on if you can find a legitimate place to stay.“

Hermione’s head was bobbing in an affirmative even before he was finished speaking. 

“Oh  _ THANK YOU _ , Mister Lockhart—“

“I can’t pretend I don’t know about this—“

“I understand, sir, I’ll look right away. I’m sure I can figure out something and find some place by the end of the month. It shouldn’t take any longer than a couple of weeks, I’m sure—“

“You have until Friday.”

Hermione’s building steam sputtered into nonexistence.

_ “Friday?” _

“Yes.”

“Like… _ this _ Friday?”

“Correct.”

“Three days from now, Friday.”

“That’s the one!”

She went back to slumping in the seat across from her boss with a defeated expression. 

_ Friday? …Friday. How the hell was she going to find a place to live by the end of the week with some tip money and possibly some change from her swear jar? _

Either Mr. Lockhart sensed her renewed level of dismay or it must have been plastered clear as day on her face – she was betting on the latter – because he was now sliding a scrap of paper her way with what appeared to be an address scrawled on it in his fancy, well-practiced, looping script.

“I know a nice young man, owns a house right around the corner from the college campus. Not far from here, right next to school, and  _ I _ happen to know that he’s renting a room out for  _ dirt cheap! _ ”

Hermione eyed the piece of paper suspiciously, not entirely sure if she was convinced that it wasn’t a trick. 

“How cheap is ‘dirt cheap’, exactly?” She was studying the scrap and trying to place the street name –  _ Little Hangleton Drive  _ – when Mr. Lockhart slid another one her way. This one was folded in half and she paused even longer before plucking it up and peeling it open to peek inside. When she saw the digits he’d printed on it, her mouth dropped.

“What? R-really?”

“Oh yes,” he said with a conspiratorial nod akin to someone that found out their favorite brand name athletic leggings were on sale for 70% at the corner mart and couldn’t wait to share.

“Are you…are you _ sure? _ It can’t possibly be that cheap.“

“I have it on good authority that it is.”

“I…wow. Thank you Mister Lockhart…just… _ wow. _ I’ll check it out right away!”

“No time like the present, Miss Granger!”

“Wh-you mean  _ now _ ? I thought I was working my shift.”

Mr. Lockhart slapped the desk with a boisterous laugh. 

“Miss Granger, you’re  _ homeless _ ! I can’t have a  _ homeless _ barista! That’d be absolutely barbaric!”

She stared.

“Are you—I mean, are you  _ intentionally _ being this insensitive or is this some sort of—“ Hermione gestured at the still smiling man across from her. “—unnatural learning disorder that dulls you to the fact that it’s kind of ‘not okay’ to make light of someone living out of their car?”

“ _ Dear  _ Hermione, there’s absolutely nothing unnatural about it! It’s  _ au naturale,  _ as they say!”

She was pretty sure his teeth sparkled along with the twinkle in his vacant expression.

“Right. Well. I’ll just be on my way then.” Hermione managed to control her expression of utter bafflement as she went about removing herself from Lockhart’s office.

She got as far as the door before he called out to her.

“Oh, Hermione! I forgot to tell you, be sure to ask for Thomas!”


	3. Chapter 3

“1926…1926……1926…”

Hermione was walking along the sidewalk of a neighborhood so posh, she couldn’t recall seeing one like it since she lived at home. The lawns were all perfectly manicured, mailboxes were built into picturesque, hand lain brick posts with fancy iron numbers on the sides and the actual houses, well, the houses were all _HUGE._

“…1926…AH! Ah ha!” She hurried over to the mailbox, checked her slip of paper, checked the numbers on the side, did a little fist pump accompanied by a soft cheer, and turned to look down the impressive driveway to the actual home. She was pretty sure her jaw unhinged. “No bloody way…”

Hermione peeked at the slip of paper with the comically small price for rent scribbled on it, shook her head and, against her better judgment, headed down the drive.

The house was large and tan and reminded her more of a villa or two she’d stayed in, once upon a time when she’d not been relegated to drooling on the vinyl seats of her Town Car on a routine and nightly basis. A driveway extended down and off to the side to, what appeared to be, an equally large multi-car garage. It was at least two stories that she could tell from the front but with the funky way it sat on the hill it had been built upon, she wouldn’t have been surprised if there was another level of fun in there somewhere – business in the front and party in the back and whatall.

A simple, yet effective, iron fence lined the place’s front yard. It was a little too high to jump over comfortably or, really, just without looking like a hoodlum, so she walked along its edge to find the gate all while gaping in awe at the fancy exterior. Her hand bumped along the iron bars as she moved and admired all the shiny windows facing towards the quiet, suburban road.

Mouth still dropped open at the impressive architecture, her hand caught on the gate, only to find it padlocked. Without missing a beat, she reached into her barely contained mass of curls where it was still pulled back for work, and plucked a few of the massive pins taming her flyaways from their spots. She snapped two of them clean in half and bent the other at a funny, twisting angle and went about slipping her assortment of pieces into keyhole. Hermione worked them all alongside one another until she heard a faint _click_ and the padlock fell open.

“That’s _really_ lovely arch work…really lovely,” she said to herself while shoving the impromptu picks into a pocket. Letting herself in and shutting the gate behind her, she refastened the lock and allowed her hand to linger on the gate a moment before pulling away. She let out a low, impressed whistle. “Hand worked iron, too? _Huh._ Brilliant.”

Hermione ambled the rest of the way up the too clean and pristine walkway to the front door. She took the few steps up carefully, admiring the beautiful and meticulously cut privacy glass framing a giant oak door that boasted decorative iron filigrees to match the fencing behind her. Allowing herself one last skeptical glance at the slips of paper her boss had passed over, she knocked.

For several seconds there was no noise.

No rattling.

No running about.

No yelling behind the closed door.

_Nothing._

Hermione rocked patiently on the balls of her feet, trying to peer through the glass as casually as she could fake, but mostly just fidgeting. She waited another minute or so before knocking again.

This time she heard the scrabbling of feet. It reminded her of the sound a dog makes when it takes too sharp a turn on hardwood floors. Those feet were most _definitely_ drawing nearer.

It wasn’t long after that she was able to see some blur of color zip past the warbled panes in the distance.

More of those scrabbling noises – then _pounding_ – came.

Another shot of color blinked by.

The absurdity of whatever was happening beyond the door in front of her started to bleed through to the outside world and she began wondering if anyone was actually going to come _to_ the door.

And that was when a large, looming shape suddenly appeared on the other side, seeming as though they might actually be trying to hide behind the door itself.

Hermione put on her best, most pleasant smile and left her _‘Hi, I’m a homeless person with a jar of assorted coinage and a ten spot, please take me in’_ look tightly closeted away, waiting for the person to open up and greet her.

She waited.

She was _still_ waiting after another minute so she attempted to peek inside once more.

“Hello?” she said cautiously, leaning forward. As she did, that big shape scooted further behind the oak door as if to clear her line of vision.

Hermione’s brow furrowed.

“Um…hello?”

The shape scooted again at the sound of her voice.

“Erm. Sorry, I—“

The scrabbling happened again and another shape whizzed by to join the other.

There was a murmur of annoyed sounds as, she guessed, the two people – men, it sounded like from the pitch of their voices – bickered in hushed tones.

Finally tired of all the nonsense, Hermione rolled her eyes and called out, “ **_HEY!_ ** I can _see_ you, you know? I **_know_ ** you’re there! If you could open up, I’d really appreciate it!”

More shuffles.

“I really won’t take up much of your time!”

Strained silence.

Swiping a hand down over her face, Hermione groaned. She barely resisted slamming a fist on the door one more time and screaming about the lunacy.

“I was told to ask for ‘Thomas’. Is there one of those here? If not, I mean, I’ll go, but—“

The door suddenly jerked partway open and a dark set of eyes peered from beneath the fall of perfectly coiffed brown hair and at her from around the door’s edge with an obviously suspicious stare.

“How did you get to the front door?” the voice asked, muffled by where it pressed flush to the wood.

Hermione wasn’t sure what she was more surprised by: the fact that the person had finally opened up or that they were asking about _how_ she got there. She blinked and scratched a spot at the base of her neck awkwardly.

“Gate was open.”

The man, for it was obviously a man, opened the door completely and straightened. He filled the open doorway with his mass and height, still eying her carefully. His gaze then wandering to the _clearly_ padlocked gate a little ways behind her.

“No it’s not.”

“It was.” She shrugged. It wasn’t a lie. It _had_ been open. The fact that _she_ opened it was a detail nobody asked for specifically and so was irrelevant. How was she supposed to inquire about the room for rent if she couldn’t get to the front door, anyway?

“What do you want with Tom?”

Hermione frowned and handed over the slips of paper which looked comically small in his beastly mitts. “Room for rent?”

His thick brows dipped in confusion. “Where did you—“

“Oh for _fuck’s_ sake, Marc, you’re not the Black Knight. Get out of the way and let the girl in already!”

The big man, Marc apparently, exhaled and all that scary, pressing authority withered into a kind of ‘massive puppy’ vibe instead; he stepped aside. Another man, this one similarly tall but lean and dark skinned, came into view. He was all smooth angles with coloring that reminded her of a cup of bold, rich French roast, brewed to the perfect degree, with just a dab of hazelnut cream—

_“Bloody coffee place is in my head!”_

“Pardon?”

Oh. Did she say that aloud? “Ah, nothing.”

The slightly cream sweetened coffee man extended his hand to her and Hermione reached out to take it.

“Blaise Zabini,” he greeted her. “Pleased to meet you, Miss..?”

“Granger,” she said hastily. As an afterthought, Hermione pursed her lips in something resembling a smile. “Pleasure.”

Blaise nodded. “And how is it you came to hear about the room?” he asked even as he tugged the pieces of paper from the big brute still hovering near.

“My boss actually.”

“Lockhart again,” Blaise commented with a click of his tongue while looking at the papers.

“Yes. How did you know?” It was a careful question, not sure if this was a good or bad thing.

Knowing what little she knew of her boss, she was expecting more of the latter.

He turned the pieces around and pointed to a few spots on the street name. “There aren’t that many people around with the knowledge that we’re renting who dot their little _i’s_ with hearts and draw in these great big loopy things to the side of everything.”

“Flourish.”

“Sorry?”

“It’s a…well it’s an asymmetrical flourish. See, he took a flat nibbed—“ Hermione paused at the quizzical look Blaise was sending her way. “Nevermind. I don’t mean to be rude, Blaise, but is there a Thomas here or not? Mister Lockhart told me I should speak with him, so if he’s not home or something—“

“No, no, he’s here.” Blaise nodded at Marc, who then scrambled off somewhere in a hurry, presumably to go fetch the man in question. “Here, come on in while we wait.”

Hermione, who had still been hovering at the threshold, stiffened a little at the idea of waiting inside a place where there were at least two reasonably large, fit men – and supposedly at least one other – nesting with each other, without actually knowing what lay inside.

It could be nothing but a really, really nice house with an obscenely cheap room to rent, as advertised.

Alternatively, it all might be simply a deceptively nice foyer with _actual_ hardwood flooring masking the horrific slaughterhouse that was undoubtedly contained within the bowels of the remarkably well furnished innards of the place.

Or maybe it was a bang train sex dungeon.

Perhaps she should have come with someone...

_Yeah. With all of those friends you have out here._

Blaise chuckled at her hesitance. “Don’t worry, I assure you, it’s perfectly safe.”

“I’m not worried about that,” she lied, fixing Blaise with an easy, confident gaze that wasn’t at all a deer in headlights look.

Blaise smirked but noticed her hand hovering strangely at her side like she was readying herself to draw on him at any moment and his back stiffened as well.

_What if this girl was insane?_

_What if she’d actually come to kill them all?_

Maybe he shouldn’t have sent Marcus off and left him all alone with her.

“…good,” Blaise said at last, exchanging a wide eyed look of caution with Hermione.

“Right.”

“Great.” He saw her hand twitch at her side and he forced a smile and nervous titter, resisting calling his friend back. “Right this way, we’ll wait in the living room.”

Hermione shuffled forward into the house.

Blaise shuffled backwards.

And the pair of them never took their wide-eyed poorly concealed looks of terror off one another as they moved inside together.


	4. Chapter 4

Blaise sat stiffly on their big plush couch, still staring at the small girl staring back. She looked to be trying not to fidget too much on the loveseat while fixing him with a critical eye as well. Every time her hand twitched a little he just _knew_ that this was it.

She was going to stab him.

She was going to kill him.

And she was going to take all the fine China.

The silence between them was deafening.

Blaise hoped Marcus would be back soon.

As if on cue, the big man came tromping back into the living room, sitting down on the far end of the couch Blaise occupied with a heavy exhale. He draped his arm along the back of the sofa and stretched his legs out in front of him beneath the coffee table.

“Tom’s coming. He was in the shower so just give him a minute.”

Blaise’s shoulders visibly relaxed once Marcus had reappeared, though with the re-arrival of the man came a subsequent tensing of the girl’s shoulder which, in turn, led _him_ to tense again.

 _Maybe I should go put a blanket over the crystal cabinet,_ Blaise thought.

“So you said Lockhart’s your boss?” The question came easily from Marcus and appeared to surprise both of the other wary looking individuals in the room.

“…yeah,” Hermione replied cautiously.

This fact amused him apparently and he snorted. “Tough luck, that.”

His odd laugh did wonders in putting her at ease and Hermione finally relaxed a bit more into the cushions – though not too much. It was sort of like sitting on super puffed marshmallows already and too much relaxing would see nodding off.

 _Gods,_ she hadn’t sat on anything so soft in what felt like _ages_.

“A bit,” she agreed with a smile. “How do _you_ know him?”

Seeing the easy exchange between the pair, Blaise was bolstered in joining in, still keeping a watchful eye on little Miss Granger in case she got feisty all of a sudden.

“Gilderoy? He’s actually Tom’s uncle.”

Hermione blanched at the possibilities of what this Thomas, or ‘’Tom” as they kept referring to him, could possibly be like.

“ _Uncle?_ ”

“Oh, don’t worry,” Blaise added easily as though he’d provided this very explanation more than once in his lifetime. “They’re _nothing_ alike. Polar opposites in fact. Actually, Tom is apparently sort of the…erm…black sheep in the family, so to say.”

If possible, Hermione paled more at the idea of a _whole family_ of Lockharts.

“Blaise, mate, I know you don’t fancy birds but please don’t go scaring them off, eh?”

A new voice joined the mix and Hermione jumped at its proximity. Her head snapped to the new body and her brain took less than half a second to process the face she was looking at.

She yelped in shock.

The new man frowned.

Blaise blinked.

Marcus guffawed. “Yeah, _that_ one is a sight, isn’t he?”

The man in question glared at Marcus and turned his sights back on Hermione, extending a hand to her with a significantly gentler look.

“Sorry, love. Didn’t mean to startle you. The name’s Abraxas.”

She was still reeling from the fright but managed to blink and breathe away her surprise. The name helped her get her bearings because for _just_ a moment there he looked like—

“Hermione,” she said and shook his hand. “Pleasure. A-and…sorry. About—“ She gestured between them. “—all that just there. You looked like someone I knew.”

He smiled wide. “Oh? Someone handsome and charming?”

“Pale and pointy.”

Abraxas’ face fell.

A second ticked by before it brightened again.

“OH! Hey!” His smile was huge and pearly white, gray eyes alight with a sudden excitement as he pointed to her. “English!”

Hermione, in her startled moment, hadn’t even noticed the accent and her own mouth dropped open as it had the night before when she’d run into that prick in the shop.

“Oh! Yeah! Well, look at that.” She wondered if she looked like as much of a tool as this bloke did with the way he was staring. “That’s two for two for me—today and yesterday.”

Abraxas slid down onto the cushions next to her looking like an eager child with a new toy.

“Met another bloke from the mother country recently?” he asked and she blinked at the phrasing, but nodded. “Brilliant! Did you get his name? There’s a woefully small number of us here for some reason or another. I’ve only run into Tom. And my cousin, but he’s back up north.”

Abraxas continued yammering and Hermione lost track of the conversation somewhere along the way.

One thing that stood out though was that this “Tom” person was _English_.

“Wait—Abraxas, wait, wait, wait. Mister Lockhart isn’t British. So how is Tom—“

“Oh, he was adopted,” he chirped merrily.

Hermione narrowed her eyes and creased her brow. “I’m not…really sure that, that actually explains—wait, you mean _Tom_ was or Lockha—“

“What the fuck are _you_ doing here?”

For the second time that evening, Hermione froze, but _this_ time it was because she recognized that voice.

Slowly she turned, almost fearful of what she was about to see.

He came into her line of sight, sliver by sliver, as she found the longest, most drawn out way possible to see if it was really the twat waffle from work.

Hermione saw his feet first, bare and very lightly tanned with the hem of some black jersey sweats brushing the tops of them. His trousers hung a bit loose and baggy – _comfortable_ one might say – and the drawstring waist sat low on his hips. She was able to make out a very small sliver of skin between the top of his sweats and the bottom of the tightly fitting black sleeveless shirt that was doing its best job of being his second skin and trying to hug all along the hard, muscled lines of his chest and abdomen. With his arms exposed fully, Hermione recognized some of the tattoos she’d seen the night before. She visually traced their path, inspecting what she’d seen once and examining how they coiled and curled up the rest of the way, painting his biceps and shoulders in the rest of its inky story.

A well-used looking gray towel – _black also at one point_ _she suspected_ – draped around his neck and over his shoulders to catch the still running rivulets of water coming off his tousled blue-black hair.

It was all made much more indecent by the fact that, thanks to having just exited the shower, he was quite blatantly _glistening._

 _“Rickle?”_ Hermione asked in astonishment.

“Rickle?” Abraxas and Blaise repeated, one confused, one amused.

Marcus blinked questioningly, looking between the little coffee shop girl and Tom Riddle.

“ _Riddle,_ ” he hissed and his face went from mildly perturbed to a downright scowl. Tom tugged one end of his towel up and went back to drying his hair. “And I’ll ask again, what the fuck are _you_ doing here?”

Hermione’s pleasant mood dissipated in the face of this Grade-A git, and she opened her mouth to reply but was cut off.

“ _Language_ , Tom,” Blaise tutted.

“Oh, sod off,” he snapped and turned to Abraxas, “What’s she doing here?”

The pale man gaped, looked at Hermione, and shrugged. “I don’t know! I just got here a minute before you!”

Tom narrowed his eyes disbelievingly. “Really. Why is it that I just don’t seem to believe _that_?”

Abraxas shrugged. “Trust issues? I’ve no clue, mate.”

Hermione watched the two exchanging words and tried to interject politely several times. “Hey—“

“Of all the strays to bring home—“

 _“Stray!”_ Hermione squawked indignantly.

“I didn’t! She was here when I got here!”

_“Hey, I’m sitting RIGHT here—“_

“—you go and find the bitch that smells like coffee and biscuits—“

“LANGUAGE, Tom!”

“Belt up, Blaise--”

“What does that even _mean_? I’m afraid I don’t speak ‘Limey git,’ Tom.”

Marcus snorted a laugh. “Good one.”

“Thanks, _‘mate.’_ ” Blaise grinned and the big man snickered.

Tom turned his scowl onto them. “I don’t know which of you let her in but—“

**_CRASH!_ **

No one really expected it.

No one really expected it because, _really_ , who **_would_ ** have expected this tiny little thing to walk up to a man a whole head taller than her - looking like he’d come off the cover of a _“Ravage Me”_ magazine for their _“Best Brooding Bad Boy Abs of the Season”_ issue at that – and **_slug_ ** him, sending him crashing ass over tits into the nearest end table and its poncy looking lamp.

“ _Holy SHIT!_ ” Marcus said.

Abraxas shot off the loveseat in shock, then gaped in awe.

Blaise screeched and scrambled off the couch, running out of the room – presumably to go hide the China.

Hermione’s sudden burst of anger at Tom’s mouthing off in front of her dissolved and her eyes went wide, the whites of them totally visible as she realized what she’d just done. Her hands came up to cover her mouth and she looked around the room at the men staring at her.

“Oh! Oh my God! I’m sorry! I’m so sorry! Shite. Shite shite shite shite shite! I’m so sorry! _Ohmygodohmygodohmygod--_ ” She snatched up her backpack with her chunk of change and bolted.

Abraxas stared after the girl, mouth still open catching flies.

Marcus was bouncing on the balls of his feet and flailing his hands at his side, looking from the open door to Tom to Abraxas back to Tom and back to the door.

“What do we do? _Whatdowedo?_ Do we call someone? The police! Do we call the police??”

Tom groaned from his spot on the floor, rolling onto his side and clutching his towel to his nose as he shakily sat up.

“ _Wow_ **_._ ** Holy hell, mate.” Abraxas finally snapped out of it and came to Tom’s side, a hand on the man’s back. “You alright?”

Tom growled something unintelligible and shrugged off his hand.

Abraxas snorted, held his hands up and stood again. “Right, well fuck you, then.”

“Police?” Marcus asked again frantically.

“No,” said the blond with a shrug, going over to close and lock the front door. “Pretty sure she’s not coming back.”

_“You’re sure?”_

Abraxas turned around to see Blaise standing in the hall that led from the living room to the kitchen, arm full of his crystal champagne flutes and wine glasses. He rolled his eyes.

“Y _es._ Also, bugger this guy,” he snarked and motioned at Tom’s angry, hunched form with his bloody towel clamped over his nose and his head tilted back.

“ _Language!”_

_“Bugger you, too!”_

Tom was left glaring hard at the door that the infuriating – _and abusive_ – coffee house girl had disappeared through.

Who the hell did she think she was?

Coming into his bloody home.

Assaulting him in his own house.

_Fucking…BITCH._

His nose tingled at the memory of his insults setting her off in the first place.

He glared harder at the door.

 **_Really_ ** , who did she think she was?

_Hermy…_

_Hermy-own…_

The fuck was her name?

_Hermione?_

_Hermione._

Tom peeled the towel away from his face and touched the tip of his nose, wincing.

“Bitch,” he said.

 


	5. Chapter 5

Hermione groaned from her spot on the curb, sitting with her head in her hands as the evening stretched on. The sun went down some time ago and the recycling plant behind her was doing its normal, strange smelling, processing thing while she was trying to figure out how she was going to come up with money for fuel to go back home. Obviously, this dream of hers wasn’t quite panning out the way she had hoped.

_Maybe it’s time throw it in. I could call mum and dad and just—_ **_NO._ **

She growled to herself, pushing off from the sidewalk again and shoving her hands in her pockets.

“I’ll just have to find some place else to live is all,” Hermione muttered, kicking at some rocks and weeds that’d managed to grow in the cracks of the asphalt. “I’ve had harder times than this...no sense in chickening out now.”

Not quite ready for sleep just yet, she set out for another walk down the nearby roads to tire out her thoughts. If she looked hard enough in her wandering, she might even be able to find more bottles and cans people had tossed to the alleyways and turn them in for more change in the morning.

There were still a few days before she would officially be fired anyway. If nothing else, it would at least give her some time to concoct her next moves.

**. . . . .**

Tom had been stewing _all_ day following the coffee house scrub’s assault the night before.

The stupid bitch hadn’t managed to completely break his nose, but she’d most definitely given him more than a simple ‘shiner’. Most of the previous evening was spent with an ice pack on his face to combat the swelling but it felt as though it made his injury even more dramatic come the next day. His face was still sensitive and bruising quite nicely - and _vividly_ , at that – and put him in a rather dour mood. It didn’t help that he had a show coming up that Friday and he was convinced that no amount of concealer was going to cover up this black and blue monstrosity over the left side of his face.

She would pay.

That stupid, _insufferable_ girl, would pay.

He should have gone to the ER then sent her the damned bill.

Tom flirted with the idea of pressing charges, considering he knew exactly where she worked and he had all the confidence that he could find her fairly easily, but he’d calmed himself down enough to simply start with a ‘discussion’ with her and see where things went from there.

He shoved open the coffee shop door with gusto, the little bell ringing anxiously at being so thoroughly jostled. Tom scanned the inside for signs of his thuggish barista but frowned when all that greeted him was the too eager smile of that other girl that always wanted to engage him in conversation about his major.

Her smile faltered at the sight of his face.

“OH MY GOD!  Tom, what happened?”

Tom staved her off from coming out from around the counter with a dismissive wave.

“Nothing of consequence, Penny. Just you here tonight?”

Penny hesitated, not wanting to pull her eyes away from the sizable bruise that just _was_ half of his face. She settled on a nervous nod.

“Y-yeah. Well, it’s a Wednesday. We usually don’t get a lot of business on Wednesday nights for some reason.”

“Might be that whole ‘middle of the week’ thing.”

Penny missed the sarcastic tone and giggled a bit too hard.

“That may be! What brings you in tonight, Tom? You don’t look like you’ve just come from a show, at least not _your_ usual kind of show.” She paused and her cheeks pinked suddenly. “Were you…looking for someone?”

His eye twitched and he habitually gave her a once over, something he’d done many a time to re-check himself and his opinion on her having any redeeming qualities. Sure, she was curvaceous and flirty and she had an entirely too healthy interest in all things Tom Riddle, but she was several cans short of a six-pack. After the time he’d made the mistake of trying to relax in the shop after class by reading one of his texts and she’d asked him “who is So-crates?”, he’d written her off forever.

Tom forced a polite smile after deciding that she was still a forever no.

“Yes, actually,” he said and Penny perked up. “I was looking for—I think her name is Hermione?”

Penny’s face fell.

It was _delightful_.

“Hermione?” Penny said the name with obvious disgust. “She worked the AM shift today. What would you want with _her_?”

Apparently, he wasn’t the only one that had issues with the little thug.

“Thomas, is that you? Oh, it is! Hel- _lo_ dear boy!”

_FUCK._

Tom turned to Penny with barely contained fury in his eyes. “I thought you said it was just you!”

“Well, yeah, it is! And Mister Lockhart, of course. But he doesn’t really count.”

He managed to bite back a sneer, fixing Penny with an incredulous stare and speaking his next words very slowly and evenly.

“You _do_ understand that when there is another person here, even if it _is_ my uncle, that means you are not alone, right? I realize this may be confusing considering the person in question, but contrary to my most intense wishes, he _does_ still count as a person.”

Penny blinked at him.

Tom narrowed his eyes, unsure how he was resisting being drawn into the black void that was the girl’s brain. He had little time to ponder on it before his uncle’s arm came to drape heavily around his shoulders.

“Thomas! _SO_ good to see you!”

“It’s _Tom_.”

“I always seem to miss you whenever you come in—“

“That’s intentional,” Tom said.

Mr. Lockhart continued on, guiding them to sit at a table and set of chairs near the back of the shop with one arm around his nephew while the other swept and gestured in grandiose movements alongside his voice. It was as though he were conducting a symphony—with how much the man enjoyed the sound of himself talking, he may as well have been.

“—did our lovely Miss Gran— _THOMAS!”_ Mr. Lockhart gasped when he finally spared the second to look at Tom. The sound was like a vacuum hose trying to suck up a paper clip stuck sideways on its nozzle. “Heavens, boy! What happened to your face?”

Tom glowered. “I’d rather not discuss it if it’s the same to you, Lockhart.”

Mr. Lockhart tutted. “After all these years—I really wish you would call me Uncle Gilderoy.”

“Yes, I’ll not be doing that either. Listen, Lockhart, were you or were you not the one that sent that frizzy maned beastly little thing to my house?”

“Ahhh, yes! Hermione!”

“…you knew exactly who I was talking about by that description?”

Mr. Lockhart smiled brilliantly, teeth glittering in the fluorescent lighting of his shop. “Well she’s the only ‘frizzy maned beastly little thing’ around _here._ ”

“I don’t think you’re allowed to say that as her—no. You know what? Nevermind. I’m looking for her. Have you seen her recently?”

Mr. Lockhart’s smile faltered. “Didn’t she ask you about the room?”

He’d had no doubt it was his uncle that sent the girl his way. He’d conversed with Blaise and the others after the fact—after he calmed down, that is—and they’d confirmed it enough for him. It didn’t piss him off any less to hear the idiot come right out with it, though.

Tom bristled. “Look, there’s _no_ way she’s—“

“I _told_ her to ask for you! I knew if she dealt with anyone else in that silly little household of yours she wouldn’t—“ Mr. Lockhart’s brow furrowed and he dug himself deeper and deeper into his own frustration for no apparent reason other than being dramatic.

“Lockhart, I’m not—“

The older man huffed, making no show of even pretending to listen to his nephew.

“You’d think the girl would at least do _one_ thing I ask! She’s brilliant Thomas, she really is. If she can’t get this settled by the week’s end though, I’m afraid there’s nothing I can do.”

“—going to—“ Tom’s rebuttals skidded to a halt and were swiftly replaced by curiosity at his uncle’s somewhat foreboding lead in.

He wasn’t a fool. Tom knew Mr. Lockhart was cleverer than he seemed—although, to be fair, it was impossible to tell when he was being clever and when he was just in his natural state of ‘clueless and self-absorbed’.

Still...Tom couldn’t help his curiosity.

Knowing he’d regret it later, Tom asked with narrowed eyes, “Get _what_ settled?”

“The _housing_ situation,” Mr. Lockhart purred. “If she doesn’t fix that mess, I really can’t keep her on staff.”

Tom sighed with some irritation and took the bait. “What housing situation?”

Mr. Lockhart straightened and looked around suspiciously, eyes narrowing to slits when he caught sight of Penny. Leaning in again across the table, he whispered, “Not here. The walls have _ears_.”

Tom rolled his eyes but when Mr. Lockhart made to get up and head down the back hall of the shop to his office, he followed. When they were inside, out of earshot and behind closed doors, the man tossed his arms into the air with a half-flail.

“She’s homeless!” Mr. Lockhart shouted.

Tom jerked back at the sudden booming volume in the small space and gave him a look that clearly indicated he’d thought his uncle finally completed his epic journey to the land of madness.

“ _Homeless?_ ” Tom asked. “What in blazes are you on about?”

“Shhh-shh-shh! Not so loud!” Gilderoy shushed him, waving away the question and, as an afterthought, jiggling the handle to his office door to test the lock. “I can’t have a homeless person on staff! I’m _pretty_ sure it’s not legal here!”

“You’re _‘pretty’_ sure?”

A headache was beginning behind his eyes and Tom was about ninety-nine percent positive that it was in no small part due to the curly blond headed relative standing a few feet away. He massaged at his temples, wincing when the movement tugged ever so slightly at the bruised portion of his face.

“Lockhart...how do you even know she’s homeless? Shouldn’t that have been something you knew, oh, I don’t know, from the moment you hired her?”

Mr. Lockhart huffed and shrugged. “Background checks sometimes take a while, Thomas!”

He felt the twitch in his eye coming on again—this place was going to give him a permanent tick. “And generally are meant to be completed _before_ you bring someone onto payroll.”

The man flapped a hand at his nephew, puffing his chest up and out. “Don’t you push your philosophy nonsense on me, young man! You _know_ how I feel about all that drivel.”

He gaped. “ _Fairly_ certain that’s something also known as ‘proper operating procedures’.”

Mr. Lockhart snorted. “Po- _tay_ -toe, po- _tah_ -toe.”

“I just—I _can’t_ with you—“ Tom stopped. He breathed. He grit his teeth a little more. He breathed again. “ _Uncle Gilderoy_ …what exactly happens if she can’t get into a home by the end of the week?”

Mr. Lockhart brightened at the sound of his name and chirped, “Oh, I fire her, of course!”

He’d said it so merrily that Tom wasn’t sure if he’d heard correctly.

“Sorry, you said you _fire_ her?”

“Oh, _yes_.” Mr. Lockhart sent a look that plainly said _‘duh’_ ’ in the direction of his nephew and chuckled. “As I said, I’m pretty sure I can’t have a homeless person on staff. That’s why I sent her your way. She really is a brilliant girl, Thomas. She memorized the entire frozen, blended, _and_ espresso menus in under a week! I’d hate to lose her, but I just can’t have any homeless bums here in my reputable establishment.”

Tom’s headache was blinding.

“So. Okay, sorry, Uncle, please correct me if I’ve gotten lost along the way, but she’s homeless, you fire her—what then?”

Mr. Lockhart had been sporting his usual carefree and dazzling smile until that question and it turned vacant. It reminded him of the expression Penny usually entertained.

“I’m afraid I don’t follow?”

Tom tilted his head back, looked at one of the flickering bulbs and counted to ten before focusing back on the curly haired shop owner.

“What happens—” He spoke, metering out his syllables for the second time since he arrived so his audience could keep up. “—to Hermione after you fire her? If she’s homeless and this is her only source of income…what happens then?”

Mr. Lockhart stared at Tom long and hard and one could almost hear the gears clicking through their positions until at last, “Oh! _Ah!_ Ah ha ha!” He laughed and waggled a finger. “Oh, my dear boy, I have no idea! But who really cares?”

Tom had to inhale slowly and deeply before blowing the breath back out.

_Fuck._

This didn’t change a damn thing, except—

**_FUCK._ **

Swiping a hand over his face, Tom groaned, knowing this was a fucking stupid idea. “Do you know where I can find her?”

“Well, I haven’t personally seen her today, but I think she’s still staying near the recycling center. Or somewhere in that area anyway.”

Tom wrinkled his nose at the thought, yelping at the sharp sting of the movement reminding him of his bruised up mug. He groaned and rubbed at the injury carefully before muttering a half-hearted thanks.

“Not a problem, dear boy!”

Something in his uncle’s so-cheery tone made all the hairs on the back of his neck prickle and Tom found he could only get as far as halfway past the threshold with his hand still lingering on the knob.

He certainly didn’t care for the bitch – or her right hook for that matter – but it was the principle of the thing!

You didn’t just knowingly send people out to fend for themselves like that in a city like this.

You didn’t just _dump_ them somewhere with no regard for their future.

You didn’t just…

_…leave them somewhere to rot in an orphanage for a decade before someone decided they wanted that scraggly looking mutt in the window._

_Just..._ **_FUCK._ **

Before he could change his mind, Tom half turned back to his still smiling uncle.

“Uncle Gilderoy, please remind Hermione to update her employee records when you see her next. You know the address.”


	6. Chapter 6

Hermione groaned and stretched, all the joints in her body popping noisily with the movement. Rubbing her back with a whimper, her spine made some morbidly musical notes when she unfurled from the bench seat of her car. As she pushed open her car door, a different sort of creaking whined from the steel hinges and Hermione scooted out from the vinyl bench, tugging a rolled up yoga mat out with her to go about her daily stretches.

Hermione’s groggy self began to wonder if a dumpster would actually be more comfortable to sleep in if she could handle the stench and all the possible —

 _No_ , _let’s not even go there._

Going about her initial breathing exercises, it wasn’t until she’d started to get into her downward dog position that she saw a suspicious envelope that she was certain hadn’t been there before laying underneath her car. Hermione looked at the thing, puzzled. She gave another cursory glance around before snatching it up and taking up a sitting position on her mat to open and read it.

Her eyebrows rose when she caught sight of the the gorgeous, calligraphic script.

**_Come to the house tonight after 5. The room’s yours if you still want it. Use the side door this time._ **

Hermione read it again, looking for a signature of some sort.

Then another time—nothing. She spared an additional moment to look around her, to see if the author was anywhere in eyeshot so she could ask him—because it _had_ to be one of the ‘hims’ she met—how the fuck they figured out where she was living.

This was a trick.

It had to be a trick.

_‘The room’s yours’ it said…_

She wet her lips.

“S’gotta be a trick…”

What other options did she have, though?

 

* * *

 

“Marc! Put your fucking glasses in the fucking dishwasher when you’re done!” Blaise shouted amid his tidying from dinner.

_“Fuck you, Blaise!”_

“Language!”

_“You’re a fucking hypocrite, you know that?”_

_KNOCK! KNOCK! KNOCK!_

“I’m sorry, I can’t actually hear you over all the shit that’s coming out of that potty mouth of yours!”

Blaise rolled his eyes at the next muffled curse sent his way from the other room and shut off the water from the kitchen sink to go answer the side door. He flipped the security latch, released the deadbolt, and turned the tiny nib on the doorknob so that he could tug open the door.

“Hey, can I help— _AHHHHHHHHH!_ ” Blaise screamed bloody murder and set all the locks back into place in a hurry. “ABRAXAS! SHE’S BACK! YOU SAID SHE WOULDN’T BE BACK!”

“What?!”

“SHE’S _BACK!!_ ”

Blaise’s incessant screeching roused all the residents in the house and a series of thundering footfalls came down the stairs.

Marcus appeared from his downstairs room wielding a lacrosse stick, Abraxas tripped and nearly tumbled down the stairs with a fluorescent orange Nerf bat, and Tom followed closely on his heels, unarmed and wearing only a look of consternation at the latest explosion of insanity in his home.

Blaise was scrambling for the nice flatware again when Tom caught him by the shoulders.

“Blaise! Who’s back?” asked Tom.

Blaise shrugged off Tom’s hands and pointed at the splotchy bruise on his face.

“The miscreant! She’s back! She’s outside! She’s come to finish you off!” Blaise stopped mid-frantic rant to gasp and reached out to grip Tom by the shoulders, too. “Tom! You should run!“

Tom let out an exasperated noise and rolled his eyes, shoving the man aside and tromping to the side door. He unlatched everything once more and pulled the door open. It was just as Blaise said, the petite woman was there and already half turned away, ready to leave once again.

“You’re late,” Tom said sourly. “I expected you after your shift.”

Hermione paused before turning back to the scowling man in the doorway.

_THIS is the ‘him’ that left the note?_

She’d thought about the elegantly penned message at points throughout the day and was sure it’d come from the charming pointy-faced English boy...not the twatty one.

Too tired to show her surprise, Hermione simply motioned to herself, indicating the front of her drooping apron where it hung unfastened from her neck, only cinched at her waist and the plain, yet somehow still _so_ ugly, _Lockhart’s Java House_ cap perched atop her head.

“And so I’m here,” she said.

“You were supposed to be here after five.”

“Yes,” Hermione said at length, “and it is still _after_ five, albeit _several_ hours after.”

Tom gave her a once—then a twice—over. He felt like he should have been surprised at her stubborn and ungrateful attitude, but he just wasn’t. At all. Would it have been so much to expect a _‘thank you for keeping me from being homeless’_ from the girl?

 _Whatever,_ he thought.

Exhaling heavily and questioning his decision in this again, Tom stepped aside and motioned her in. “Penny said your shift ended at five.”

Hermione grunted and sighed. “Do you have some preoccupation with the number _five_ or something?”

“I don’t appreciate it when people are _late_. Especially when I’m trying to do them a favor.”

“A favor? Is _that_ what all this is supposed to be?” She huffed and made to turn right back around. “Yeah, well, I don’t need anyone’s bloody _favors._ I’ve made it along well enough this far, I’m fairly certain I can make do without kissing your arse. God, you’re such a prick.”

Tom’s arm barred her attempted path back out and he managed to only flinch a little when she turned a very tired, very irate gaze on him; his face tingled at the memory of her tiny fist crunching into cartilage.

“He is, isn’t he?” another voice asked from further inside the house.

Hermione turned her head to see Abraxas tucking the bright orange bat beneath one of his arms and extending a hand out to her in an attempt to coax her away from the doorway. She looked back at Tom then to the blond again, reluctantly moving further in to his welcoming motion.

“100% whole,” she said.

Abraxas paused to look at her, his head cocked to one side. “Was that…a coffee house pun?”

Hermione blushed and the pale, pointy man who most definitely was nothing like her dick of an ex-boyfriend laughed.

“You sound like Pansy,” Abraxas said.

She blinked exhausted, tired eyes and the question came out before she could stop it. “Who the fuck is Pansy?”

 _“Hey!”_ The word came as a harsh reprimand from yet another source.

Hermione jumped and leaned into Abraxas’ side when the man she remembered as Blaise appeared, waggling a stern finger at her.

“We don’t pander to that sort of language around here, missy!”

Marcus, who finally—warily—joined the group shoved his free hand in his pocket and shrugged. “Don’t mind him. He’s a hypocrite.”

“Do you even know what that word means? Also, fuck you, Marc.”

“See?” Marcus pointed.

Hermione squinted at them all in turn, very quickly feeling as though she wasn’t operating on nearly enough sleep to deal with them _all_ right now. She was well and truly out of time, though, if she didn’t find a place to live then Lockhart...would...

Her line of thought trailed off when she got a good look at Blaise and, unsure if she was seeing properly, asked, “Why are you holding a plate?”

Blaise huffed and tucked the dish closer to his side. “No reason.”

“Alright, you lot, AWAY,” Tom snarled irritably, waving his hands to shoo them all as if they were a brood of hens before turning to Hermione. “Rent is due on the first, bank holiday or not. All the bills and utilities are in my name, so you’ll just hand it to me—“

“Hold just a moment there,” Hermione interrupted with a scowl. “I haven’t even seen the room! And what even makes you think I’ll just—just _take_ it! You all could be mad! This could be a murder house. A fucking _Hinterkaifeck!_ ”

Tom rolled his eyes and went to the kitchen to fetch himself a drink. “Because otherwise tomorrow you’ll be homeless _and_ jobless.”

Her face heated and she sputtered in her embarrassment but none of the men looked confused—except Blaise. “Wh-who told you that?”

He took a pull from his bottle of Fresca— _a_ _fucking FRESCA_ —and answered blandly, “My uncle.”

Hermione let out an indignant squawk. “He told you _everything_ ?!” She swiped a hand down over her face and growled. “That’s PRIVATE! AUGH! I’m going to _kill_ that man.”

Blaise made a conspiratorial noise and Marc reached over to hit him lightly upside the head.

“ _Stop it_ ,” Marc hissed. “She’s got no other place to go!”

She groaned, shuffling far enough into their kitchen-slash-dining room setup to slump down into one of the chairs and drop her head into her hands. “And you told all of _them_ too?”

“Not me.” Blaise scoffed. “I’m still against it. I think you’re a hoodlum.”

With a snort, Hermione said, “At least you’re honest about it.”

_Ugh._

“Look, gentlemen—“ She pushed back to her feet and shook her head. “—sorry to put you in this sort of position. Allow me to do us all a favor and I’ll politely extract myself from your home and we can just pretend none of this ever happened.” Hermione eyed Tom and the still purplish splotch on his face and couldn’t resist another prod. “Well…might take YOU a bit longer to forget...”

Marcus frowned when she moved to leave again. “But where will you go?”

She dismissed the big man’s concern and his big puppy dog eyes with a casual shrug and reassuring smile. “It’s not a big deal, love. I’ve done it all before, it won’t even be a thing. Don’t lose sleep over it.”

Clapping Marcus on the shoulder with the intention of leaving, she barely got a foot toward the door before Tom was there, blocking her path again.

Hermione’s eyebrows made a slow path up towards her hairline. “ _Move?_ ”

Tom moved with her again when she tried to dodge around him.

“ _No._ You can’t just go out there and be homeless. That’s idiotic and I won’t simply stand by and spectate idiocy.”

_No?_

Hermione puffed up immediately, the idea of someone telling her what to do flipping the most militant switch in her head. She took a step to Tom and his expression morphed to surprise at her combativeness.

“And who exactly died and made you the big ‘ _Lord of Everything?’_ ” she snapped.

Tom scowled at her overly insulting use of air quotes.

 _God, she was like a Chihuahua,_ he thought. _All tiny and feisty and barking._

He eyed the frizz of her hair peeking out from beneath that godawful cap and the barely contained locks flaring out from below her hair band and amended his thought.

_Maybe more like one of those miniature poodles._

“You can’t be serious,” he said. “You don’t actually _want_ to be out of a home AND out of job!”

She huffed.

When he merely stared down at her, Hermione drew in a deep breath and did it again.

**_HUFF!_ **

“Maybe not, but I’ll be buggered if I let a king size prat like you make any life altering decisions for me!”

Blaise edged up next to Abraxas to whisper in his ear. _“I think she’s going to hit him again.”_

Abraxas scratched his chin, watching the two glaring hard at each other, nearly chest to chest.

Nodding, he whispered back, _“What you want to wager that she blackens his other eye?”_ He motioned towards the kitchen island. _“And he cracks his head on the paper roll holder.”_

 _“I don’t bet,”_ Blaise mumbled. And chewed on his lip. _“Though if I did, I’d say fifty on Tom this time.”_

_“You’re figuratively on.”_

“Look, woman—” Tom stretched himself to his tallest, widest looming stature. “—don’t be foolish!“

“ _LOOK,_ **_MAN_ ** —” Hermione did the same, only the top of her head coming barely to the height of his chin. “— _don’t_ call me foolish!”

“You’re just being stupid and difficult for no reason!”

“And you’re just being stupid! With your—your—stupid _face!_ ”

Tom’s plastic Fresca bottle crinkled a bit with the way he clenched it. “My stupid—the fuck, are you _five_?”

“Again with the number five!”

They were nearly nose to nose now and it was a bit like watching a train wreck. It was the most absurd argument Abraxas, Marcus, and Blaise—collectively—had ever seen.

If she hadn’t been getting so thoroughly under his skin with her stubbornness of just trying to refuse his assistance, Tom would’ve been utterly astonished with the absurdity of _what_ it was they were fighting about.

“Do you _want_ to be homeless, you barmy twat?” Tom snarled at her.

“No!” Hermione growled. “Of course not, blinkered prat!”

“And do you fancy being a jobless cunt?”

“ _No_ , you mouthy whore!”

“Then would you like the room here?!” he questioned with _such_ fury.

 _“Yes!”_ she roared.

“Then it’s yours!”

“ **Fine!** May I see it, then?!”

“Of course you may!”

**_“OBLIGED!”_ **

**_“PLEASURE!”_ **

Tom thrust his arm out towards the staircase, urging her in the direction of the room.

Pivoting on her heel, Hermione thrust her nose into the air and marched up the staircase at Tom’s direction.

The remaining boys were left at the bottom of the stairwell staring up after the pair and it was Abraxas who broke the silence.

“Well…” Abraxas said, “ _that_ didn’t end at all how I thought it would.” He took several steps up the stairwell after them until he could lean and eavesdrop but dropped back down after a moment of listening to their shouting match more clearly.

“What just happened?” Blaise asked.

Marcus took up his lacrosse stick again, fists clenching around the pole with a bit of nervousness. He looked to Abraxas. “Was that—” There was more yelling and he winced at its ferocity. “— _is_ that a British thing?”

Abraxas shook his head.

“No…that was…actually, you know what? I’m not entirely sure _what_ that was, but definitely **_not_ ** a British thing.” Chewing his lip thoughtfully, he amended that with, “Well, except for how politely she called him a ‘sodding smeg’ just now while gushing over the master bathroom. That was a _little_ British but mostly they’re both just apparently insane.”

“What’s a ‘smeg’?” Asked Marcus.

Abraxas came back down the stairs and cupped Marcus’ cheeks briefly with his hands before clicking his tongue and heading into the kitchen. “I’ll tell you when you’re older, love.”

 


	7. Chapter 7

_It was a trick._

_It was most_ **_certainly_ ** _a trick._

These were the thoughts that kept circulating through Hermione’s noggin as she allowed herself to walk alongside Tom Riddle in the tour of the house.

“I’m getting the _master_ bedroom and bath?  That _can’t_ be right.”

Tom just shrugged from his spot against the door frame.

“This is a _trick_ ,” she said.

“For the billionth bloody time, it’s _not_ a trick.” He rolled his eyes and joined her inside the spacious bedroom.

Hermione squinted at him.  “Did one of you clear out of it between yesterday and today?  I don’t want any of your bullshite special treatment—“

“ _God,_ are you really this stubborn all the time or are you just being a pain in _my_ arse.”

“Don’t flatter yourself, you’re not nearly so special,” she scoffed.

“Nobody cleared out for you.  This room belonged to our other friend and his woman before they decided they wanted their own private place to shag in peace without people like Zabini pounding on the wall about the sort of language they were using during. We’re all perfectly fine in our current rooms, so this is what you get.”

“ _His_ woman.” Hermione scoffed. “Sexist pig.”

“Oh, Christ, don’t even start with _that_ now too.  That’s how she referred to herself so you can shove your self-righteous fight right back up your rear, alright?  For the record, she’s a much nicer bird than _you._ ”

Hermione blinked over her shoulder. “Did that hurt?”

“What?”

“That compliment? Does it actually pain you to say nice things about people? I mean, backhanded as it was, it shouldn’t have hurt _too_ much—“

“Perhaps I’ll enlighten you when you advise me of how smashing it is to be as much of a bitch as you are.”

“I know you are, but what am I?” Hermione sneered and mocked him under her breath but went on to exploring the gigantic walk in closet that was nearly as deep as her Town Car was long.  She must have breathed out something in her astonishment because he made a noise in the back of his throat that caused her to look at him.

“Large enough to meet your standards?”

She heard the snark in his question but at the moment she was too overwhelmed at the fact that her _closet_ was going to be larger than the space she’d slept in during the entirety of the past year.

“I’m sure it’ll do for a size queen such as myself,” Hermione retorted but there was a waver to it.  She scratched at a spot in front of her ear and coughed out the thickness to her voice, pushing past Tom to move back into the bedroom.

There was something in the air that shifted towards uncomfortable with her exit and Tom frowned, lingering at the threshold.  He watched the girl, noting she very deliberately kept her back to him and her hand came up once or twice more to scratch at different spots on her cheek along with a few more suspicious clearings of her throat.

_Was she..?_

“Come on, I’ll show you the rest of the house,” he said quickly and breezed past her, not bothering to check if she was going to follow.  There were few things in the world that put him off his guard but a crying woman was certainly high on the list.

Hermione nodded, knowing he couldn’t see, and took another minute to chase away any lingering moisture in her eyes.  She took a few deep breaths and cleared her throat until she was sure she’d be able to speak again without her voice trembling and put on her best scowl to join him.

When she arrived in the hall once more, Tom was leaned against the wall a little ways down. The upper portion of the house was all bedrooms and bathrooms.  Hermione took mental stock of the floorplan, noting that her bedroom and private bath would be the one on the end farthest from the staircase. Abraxas’ was the next closest to it, and Tom’s was on the opposite end of hers with a second upstairs bathroom placed somewhere between the two boys’ rooms.  She didn’t get to peek into either of their spaces, but by the stretch of wall on the inside and what she recalled from the exterior of the house, all the rooms had to have been massive!

Tom rattled off some offhanded facts about the place that she only halfheartedly listened to while staring at everything in awe.  Apparently, it was originally a family vacation home that he'd inherited after his parents passed away and had renovated at some point.  While she may not have been hanging onto _every_ word he was saying, after she got over the shock of the fact that he wasn’t just insulting everything left and right and was actually talking to her, she gathered that he was decidedly well off.  There were about a million questions - at _least_ \- that she wanted to ask after hearing him prattle on about the house, but none of them were related to that at all.

She wanted to be nosy and ask about his parents, but that would have been a different sort of rude that – even to her – was less than acceptable.

She wanted to ask more about why he was so adamant about her taking the room, but she couldn’t fathom _that_ going well either if their previous exchange was any indication.

She wanted to ask him if he actually had to work for any of this now or if it was all just him coasting on his inheritance, but…that was probably even more inappropriate than the other questions combined.

At the very least, he was much easier to deal with when he _wasn’t_ being a huge sack of shit. With her still being shaky at best, she opted for an easy, hopefully harmless question as he showed her around the downstairs.

“Are you a student?”

Tom glanced back over his shoulder then forward again as they walked and said, “Yes.”

Hermione quirked a brow and followed him into a room that had been turned into a personal home library.  Her eyes brightened and she felt her expression turning into something like idiotic glee.  

Glancing about, she saw the room had ceiling to floor bookcases built to fit. The shelves were filled end to end with a huge variety of texts in a full range of different subjects and Hermione’s hands itched to trace the spines of them all. She licked her lips eagerly and had to clench her hands to fists to keep from ravaging each and every gorgeous corner of the room.

“May I ask what for?” she asked, vibrating.

Tom eyed her with mild amusement.  Her question was steady enough but with how her pupils were blown wide and she’d seemed to barely recall he existed in the physical space next to her, Tom gathered the woman had a thing for books. There were worse things, he supposed.

“Maybe I'll tell you another day.”

That seemed to snap her out of her ogling and Hermione fixed him with a curious stare. “Is there a reason ‘another’ day is any better than ‘today?’”

“It’s late.”

She frowned.

He rolled his eyes.  

“With the reveal of my major typically comes a great deal of…'discussion.'"  _Some would call it mockery._ "I’m not sure I have it in me tonight to go through it.”  When she continued staring at him in that oddly serious way he didn’t much care for, he cleared his throat.  “At least not with _you._ My face is still quite purple from the other night and I’d hate to impede the healing process by brassing you off somehow and having you flail about until you’ve decked me again.”

“Library Science," Hermione said, unprompted.

It was his turn for confusion. _“What?”_

She shrugged and took a seat on the edge of the reading desk where it sat against the far wall beneath the sort of window she'd sooner expect to see in a chapel than a home. Hermione picked up one of the texts stacked on the end of it and ran her fingers over the embossed letters of that particular leather bound book.

“Library Science.” Then as a bit more explanation, she added, “My major. If you want to talk about a major that brings forth a ‘great deal of discussion’ that one ranks pretty high.”

Tom blinked at her.  More so, he blinked and _watched_ how she so reverently handled the book.

“You want to be a _librarian_?” he asked and watched her shoulders tense reflexively— _defensively._

Hermione tugged the book to her chest and turned one of her _looks_ up at him again.

Her jaw jutted out.

Her eyes were hard.

Her shoulders were hunched in on herself and she opened her mouth to speak.

“Philosophy.”

She stopped and blinked back at him.  He was watching her, as if waiting for her to scoff again or laugh or _something._

When Hermione remained silent, seemingly waiting for him to continue, Tom shifted his weight from one foot to the other. “Nothing?" he asked. "Not even a ‘if a tree falls in the woods, does it still make a sound?’ You really have _nothing_ to say about it?”

Hermione stared at him a moment longer and shook her head, placing the book back atop the stack she’d retrieved it from. “Wise men speak because they have something to say; fools because they have to say something.”

Tom blinked dumbly at her for several seconds before he snorted and flashed her a grin for the first time since their very first unpleasant meeting.

“Not sure that’s an appropriate use of that one,” he said.

Shrugging, Hermione pushed off from her seat on the desk to exit. “I’m just a librarian, Mister _Rickle_.  What do I know?”

“The Dewey Decimal System?”

It tricked a laugh out of her.

With an answering grin, she said, “Well there _is_ that.”

 


	8. Chapter 8

_ “Hermione!” _

“I got it, I got it!” Hermione waved at the cashier and bustled about fixing another round of fru-fru blended and frozen beverages for the large crowd that had deposited themselves into the coffee shop that night.

She had signed an agreement with Tom Riddle the night before and he was supposed to assist her with transporting some of her things after her shift let out. The act itself felt a bit like signing over her soul, but she opted not to think about it too long. As the chime on the door sounded again and the noise of the crowd grew more obnoxious, however, she somehow doubted he would be up for getting her moved so late at night.

Hermione sighed heavily to herself and set her head on not getting moved until the morning. At least she’d somehow wrangled the weekend off…

_ “Cinnamon dolce latte, no whip.” _

Her head came up at the sound of the order but mostly the sound of the  _ voice _ . When she peeked over her shoulder to see Tom Riddle looking sour faced and exhausted, hair ruffled and sticking up in all directions with his sleeves rolled up to the elbows to allow a glimpse of his heavily tattooed forearms, she actually brightened. 

He was reaching for his wallet which was attached to the end of a chain, because of course it was, when she shouted, “Rickle!”

Tom looked over at her, briefly surprised before he scowled.

Hermione laughed at the sight, shook her head, pulled one of those fancy-schmancy fully biodegradable cups out for herself and called over her shoulder, “Penny don’t hit that button. Mark one pound of these for me first, will you?”

_ “NOW?” _

She rolled her eyes at the girl. “Yes,  _ now. _ This pound right here-“

Penny stopped in the midst of ringing up a confused and irritated –  _ as if there were any other state _ – Tom to swivel around and give Hermione the sassiest hand on hip, tilted head, curled lip sort of sneer. “You can’t do that.”

“The hell I can’t. Where in the manual does it say?” Hermione glanced at the other girl as she began grinding the beans of a new bag then added, “Put your money away, Tom.”

Penny scoffed and Tom wrinkled his brow, a crisp looking twenty in his hand at an awkward half-out-of-wallet stage.

“You  _ can’t _ do that!”

“That so?” Hermione asked and was well through the first stages of Tom’s beverage. “Where’s it say? Tell me and I’ll stop.”

Penny made a disgruntled noise. “I don’t know! But you  _ can’t _ do that!”

Hermione shrugged and hurried along finishing up the brewing of Tom’s beverage of choice, squeaking her way to the counter in her grime encrusted no-slip sole shoes. She chin nodded to where Tom still stood, flashing his money. “Put it away, Tom. Here—“

Penny huffed and tried to bar Hermione from passing the drink over. “I am  _ not _ marking it out, Hermione.”

“Fine then, this one’s mine, so it’s free.”

Tom blinked and finally realized what was happening, scowl dissipating. “Hermione, that’s really not—“

“Shut it, Rickle. Penny, this one’s free.”

Tom’s scowl was back and Penny grew one of her own. 

“You can’t give away your drinks!” the girl shrieked.

“I’m not giving it away, it’s mine. Tom’s holding it for me until I get off.”

“I don’t think so!”

“Oh, but I do—“

Tom tried to massage the bridge of his nose but winced when the shock of pain reminded him it was still bruised. “Ladies—” 

“I said  _ shut it,  _ Tom! Penny mark it or move, I don’t care which, but you have two seconds to choose.”

“Hermione, I’m not going to—“

“I’m perfectly capable of paying for a fucking cup of coffee, Granger—“

“What part of ‘shut it’ don’t you understand? Also, it’s the principle of the thing!”

“Woman, I just want my coffee.”

“ _ Man, _ I am trying to be nice! Penny, mark it!”

“I won’t!”

“Granger—“

“One second left.”

“NO!”

“ **_Fine._ ** ”

Hermione, ignoring Tom’s protests and the insistent waving of his twenty dollar bill, stepped up to Penny,  _ clearly _ invading the other girl’s personal space. To her credit, Penny didn’t move, merely towered over the frizzy haired barista making a face caught between being indignant and gassy.

Slowly and deliberately, Hermione brought the cinnamon-coffee concoction up between them, locked stares with Penny and held the cup inches away from her own lips. Without breaking eye contact, Hermione leaned forward and stuck out her tongue, touching the tip of it to the rim of the lid before she  _ draaaaaaaaaagged _ it all along the edge suggestively.

Penny stiffened and there was a sudden whoop of catcalls from the waiting customers who had gone from irritated and impatient to either embarrassed or amused in the span of those two fateful seconds.

Tom’s eyes widened as Hermione flicked the tip of her tongue all around the lid making taunting humming noises that rose and fell in pitch with each swipe. Somehow, he was less shocked by her brazen behavior and much more surprised by the flash of the small steel barbell spearing her tongue and wiggling with every movement. When he noticed the clear acrylic ball sitting on the top of her tongue contrasting the steel on the underside, he understood more as to why he’d missed that it was there in the first place.

After finishing her licking display, the drink’s top glistened, all shiny and wet and even dotted in a couple of places where she’d kissed it and gotten gloss on the lid. Hermione smiled broadly at Penny. “See? Mine.”

With one last stubborn try, Penny growled, “You can’t just lick things and claim them as your own!”

“Oh?” Hermione’s eyebrows went up and she leaned in again, this time her tongue waggling towards Penny’s cheek.

“UGH! CHRIST! FINE!” Penny shoved her away and cancelled the transaction. “Jesus, you’re so gross.”

Hermione snorted and moved back to her station to switch out the lids; Tom followed her over.

“You want a new cup too?”

He shook his head, glanced at Penny who was obviously trying not to glare in their direction as she rung up the next customer, and accepted the cup with its lick-free top. “I’m pretty sure that’s sexual harassment.”

Hermione shrugged. “Yeah, probably.”

At her blasé reaction Tom felt simultaneously agitated and amused. “Can you do me a favor and  _ not _ deliberately get yourself fired after I’ve agreed to house your barmy self?”

She sighed dramatically and stomped a foot. “But it’s so  _ difficult,”  _ Hermione whined while washing and drying her hands before starting another order. She gave him a bit of a conspiratorial look and whispered, “She’s such a  _ bitch _ .”

That made him snort mid-sip.  _ She’s punchy tonight _ . “Have you  _ no _ impulse control?”

“I’m working on it. It’s  _ ‘a process’.” _

Tom just shook his head. “When are we moving your things?”

“Probably not until tomorrow.”

“What? Why not?” He checked his watch and grimaced. “It’s quarter till, I thought you were out then.”

Hermione gave him a sideways glare at his renewed ‘tone’. “Have you  _ seen _ the line? I’m closing, it’s Friday night, s’not really how that works.”

Tom straightened and gave her an immensely ornery look when she shoved the next drink order past his arm onto the pickup station. “But you’re supposed to be out at midnight.”

She had to pause and stare at him a few seconds before she realized he was being completely serious. And then she laughed and went back to work. “Wow, you’re such a bleedin’ trust fund kid.”

Hermione had turned back to her task at hand and missed the flush of red to his cheeks as well as the gruffly muttered  _ ‘bitch’ _ as he stormed out.

 

* * *

_ Books. _

_ Mountains of books! _

_ Forests of books! _

_ Books as far as the eye could see! _

_ More books than she could ever be able to read in a lifetime! _

Hermione hummed and smiled in her sleep, cuddling her squishy faced ginger cat while drooling on her back seat.

_ Floor to ceiling shelves, all of them stocked full with colorfully bound titles of every subject you could dream of! _

_ Everything was immaculate. _

_ Everything was gorgeous. _

_ Everything was— _

**_HONK HONK HONK!!_ **

Hermione screamed and slammed her head against the door, flailing and falling to the floorboards of her car as much as floorboards full of all of her belongings would allow.

_ “BUGGER!” _

Her heart was pounding as her eyes darted around the cramped space, navigating with only the sliver of sunlight coming from between the sun visors that’d been knocked around in the commotion.

**_HONK HONK HONK HOOOOOOONK!!_ **

That dreadful honking came again, more insistent this time. She growled while trying to dislodge herself from the tight space between her front and back seats. By the time she worked her way out of the car, she spotted Tom outside his own, leaning against its side and munching on what appeared to be some kind of decadent looking croissant sandwich. 

“Morning,” he said.

His voice was more cheerful than it’d ever been when addressing her before and she shot him a grouchy glare. “Do you detest sleeves or something?” It was all she could muster in her foggy headed barely there wakefulness.

Tom spared a look at himself, garbed once again in comfortable looking sweats and a snugly fitting shirt, sans sleeves. His shoulders moved in a dismissive shrug then he reached through his car window to retrieve something wrapped in foil and tossed it at her. Tom watched her flail spastically, spazzing and making strange chirping and hooting noises as she bounced the thing around whilst trying to catch it.

“I find my adult privileges allow me the opportunity to abstain from such restrictive clothing.”

Hermione finally caught the foil wrapped object and took a moment to peer inside it before turning her gaze back up and subsequently squinting. “It’s too early in the morning for  _ words _ , Rickle.”

“I thought you were a librarian,” Tom said, mocking her with a roll of his eyes.

Hermione was still cradling her own still-warm sandwich in her hands when he sauntered over. “And I thought you might not be an arsehole, but evidently sometimes  _ some _ of us are wrong.”

He waved her sour mood away and in doing so made her grumpy morning face intensify. “Where are your things?”

Hermione stared at him.

She squinted.

She blinked.

She even sucked her teeth a little before finally saying, “Tom, is there actually a brain in that pretty little noggin of yours? What part of homeless don’t you understand?”

Tom blinked back, expectantly.

Hermione scrubbed at her eyes, grunted, and jerked open the door to her car again, nearly nailing him in the side in the process.

“ _ Here _ are my things,” she said and motioned inside with a mocking flourish.

Tom shared a glare with the girl before leaning to look inside her vehicle. His brow furrowed at the clutter of personal effects he was able to scope out where they were all stacked in various corners of the inside of her Town Car.

“This is it?” he asked.

Hermione wasn’t sure if her eyes could narrow further without shutting entirely. 

“ _ Home. Less.” _

She allowed a beat to pass with him looking inside her car with his thinly veiled shock and sighed, beginning a sleepy shuffle towards his adorably expensive Audi sedan. Hermione yawned and clapped him on the shoulder as she passed. 

“Go ahead and digest that a tad longer, I’m going to have a bit of a lie in on the leather. I only need your help to get to the filling station -- the poor beast’s been out for a while, you know. Come wake me when you’re quite finished with—“ She waved a hand in the general direction of his face stifling another yawn. “—all that pity nonsense you’re trying to hide behind those dreadful faces you’re making.”

Tom looked back at her, mouth agape, and he watched her wriggle into his back seat and shut the door behind her.

_ It wasn’t pity. _

_ It WASN’T. _

_ It was… _

_ It was… _

_ Fucking damn it all. _

_ It was. _


	9. Chapter 9

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Going back through and editing these chapters and conversations reminded me of my old friends from my miscreant days that I based them all off of. To think that I had friends this...eccentric... o_o

* * *

 

It was Sunday morning when Tom shuffled downstairs to the kitchen, yawning and scratching at his head tiredly.

He hadn’t slept well the night before after helping their new resident fuel up her metal behemoth and move her few belongings into her room. It’d only taken an hour at best to move all the bags and little boxes from her car into the huge master suite and something panged in his chest to see the handful of effects barely filling up a single corner of the room. Hermione seemed rather unperturbed by it on the surface, but she’d been the quietest he’d seen her that whole day and he wasn’t sure what to make of it.

Tom was dragging his feet and scratching at his stomach, moving to grab a coffee mug to java himself up when he noticed Blaise sipping from a cup of his own, making faces as he stared out of the kitchen window shaking his head.

He blinked curiously and asked, “What’s with all that, then?”

Blaise glanced over his shoulder, spared Tom a little sneer and went back to staring outside. “This. _THIS._ It’s atrocious.”

Tom leaned over to have a look at whatever had Zabini all in a tizzy and nearly dropped the mug he’d found.

Hermione had taken her yoga mat outside and unfurled it onto the dewy grass and currently had her feet planted upon it, legs stretched long and lean with her round bum facing the window. Her back was extended down at an angle in an equally long line with her arms reaching out to the edge of the mat before her.

Tom swallowed loudly when she shifted the position to push up with her arms and level her back, then dip down so her elbows drew in on either side of her chest, followed by the pronounced squeezing of her ass cheeks as her legs stretched out beneath her and her knees and the tops of her feet touched the mat, her arms pushing up again while her back arched.

His mouth was very dry when he mumbled, “Yeah…bloody atrocious.”

Blaise blinked over at him and rolled his eyes. “Oh keep it in your pants, Riddle. That Chaturanga was _all_ wrong!”

Tom tilted his head, watching her do it again while pouring himself a cup of coffee. “Clearly. It’s very…immensely—“ He pointed with the carafe when she was in the ass up position again. “—what’s that one?”

“ **_WRONG_ ** is what it is!” Blaise scoffed and tossed out the rest of his drink in the sink with a disgusted noise, exiting the kitchen with purpose.

Tom methodically fixed his coffee, shaking some cinnamon into it and pouring some fancy flavored creamer that just never quite cut it into the murky black, then stirred distractedly. He was bringing his mug to his lips, watching Hermione go in for another relaxing looking stretch when Blaise appeared in his line of vision, tromping out into the yard in just his pyjama pants and house shoes with a stern look on his face. She toppled over in fright and while he couldn’t hear them, Tom saw the pair of them arguing animatedly about what he could only assume was her yoga form. Not long after that, Blaise’s ass was now facing the kitchen window, mimicking the poses he’d seen Hermione do only moments before and his face pinched at the new sight. Tom pulled the cord on the blinds and excused himself to the living room to go view something much more palatable on the telly…like the cooking channel.

 

* * *

It was strange being off work on a weekend.

The whirlwind of activity in her life of late should have left her exhausted from all the strange excitement, but on this quiet, mild, sunny Sunday, Hermione found herself dreadfully bored. She was already seven chapters ahead on her reading assignments on cataloguing systems and database management and she’d done all the translation in her language course she could stand at that point. She truly, _truly_ hated to admit it, but she was _bored!_

Her boredom may have been the reason she jumped so animatedly at the knock on her bedroom door. She scrambled to answer it and on the other side, found Abraxas and Marcus looking quite handsome together in the hallway.

“So, how do you like it?” Abraxas asked warmly and peered around her head. His face fell in a frown and Marcus asked before he could.

“Where is all your stuff?”

Hermione blushed and stepped aside, opening her bedroom door to wave the pair of them in. She felt suddenly all too exposed but shrugged her shoulders and played it off, motioning to the closet that she had put all of her things, including the blankets she’d been sleeping under while in her car.

Abraxas hesitated, trying a couple of times before he got the words out as gently as he could. “Are you…have you been sleeping in the closet?”

She coughed and scratched her head then shrugged again. “I uh…” Hermione fidgeted under the concerned looks of the two men. “It’s just been a while since I’ve had a room. It’s a little…”

“Overwhelming?”

“Yeah,” she confirmed sheepishly.

Marcus was frowning hard at the makeshift bed she’d lain out for herself on the floor in the corner of her closet. “We should go shopping.”

Hermione blinked up at the big man and his seemingly random statement. “What? I can’t—“

He cut her off by taking her hand and starting to drag her out of the room. “You can’t, we can. Abraxas is a _rich ponce!_ ”

Abraxas brightened. “Very good, Marcus! We’ll make a Brit out of you yet.”

She laughed but was able to extract her hand from his big meaty paw. “No, I can’t. Thank you, but I couldn’t accept—“

“Oh hush, Hermione!” Abraxas piped up and slung an arm over her shoulder, coaxing her towards the door as well. “He’s right, I’m _stinking_ rich.”

“But—“

“Nope. Let’s go.”

“I don’t—“

“We’ll at least _look_.”

“But I—“

"It’s summer. You need a summer dress. Every girl needs a summer dress—“

“I really don’t like dresses.” Hermione dug in her heels and tried to resist being carted along by the two men.

Marcus scoffed, dropped the wrist he held, and placed his hands on his hips. “Don’t like—Hermione! You would look so cute in a flouncy A-line dress…something airy—chiffon! Oh, something with ruching! And cute little wedges, OH, Abraxas—WEDGES!”

Hermione narrowed her eyes at them both, looking between the two. She pointed at them, one after the other. “Gay?”

Abraxas laughed and shook his head. “Oh, no! I’m straight as an arrow. And I’m rather fond of adorable women in adorable things.” Hermione blushed and the blond rested a hand on Marcus’ shoulder. “Marc’s mum calls him ‘well adjusted’ because he likes the ladies and the men.”

“I like to think of it as ‘equal opportunity.’” Marcus grinned and shrugged, holding a hand out flat and wavered it back and forth. “I’m a little of column A, little of column B. Mostly column B though.”

She chuckled but then pursed her lips thoughtfully. “Tom?”

“Also straight,” Abraxas answered.

Hermione scratched her chin. “And Blaise, Abraxas I heard you right the one night he’s—“

“Gay-“

“ _Super_ gay-“

Both boys blurted in unison.

She mulled over all of this information for a few minutes longer and eventually straightened, nodded and grabbed her boots. “Alright then.”

The trio exited her bedroom at last and Abraxas offered her his arm as he led them downstairs. “More comfortable now that you’re not quite so…outnumbered?”

Hermione snorted. “Oh, no. That never bothered me a bit. Just nice to know what to expect, is all.”

She was chattering with the other two men when they reached the living room and a new voice groused at them all.

“Honestly, do I live with a herd of wildebeests? You all should perhaps practice walking on the balls of your feet versus tromping around on your heels like children!”

Hermione quirked an eyebrow at the snarky Tom Riddle that was currently taking over the entirety of the house’s living space. He had several stacks of books all piled up around him, one of which was propped on one thigh while he hunched over it with a notebook on the other. The television was on but muted and a portly woman was dropping huge bricks of butter into a large bowl. Amid it all, he was tucked well into his study materials and had what appeared to be one of his sleeveless shirts draped over a chair on the far end of the room.

She rolled her eyes, taking in the huge tattooed mural shaded into his back before speaking. “First sleeves, now the whole top itself. I wonder if I can’t just make an outfit of all the things he discards and save you blokes the cash.”

Tom jumped at the sound of her, having forgotten about Hermione for the past few hours as he delved into his assignments with how quiet she’d been since her arrival. He was sure she’d just continue locking herself in her room, so the appearance of the little woman with her arms woven through those of two of his roommates was a tad more than startling.

As casually as he could, he snatched up his shirt and tugged it on over his head, making himself mildly more presentable in the company of the second closest thing to a lady that existed in his home. “I see you’ve finally chosen to come out of hiding.”

“ _We’re_ going shopping!” Abraxas beamed proudly and patted Hermione’s hand where it rested on his bicep.

“Shopping?” Tom looked at the three of them critically first then gave the blond a pointed look. “That was quick. Not even two days and you’re already going for it?”

Abraxas made an appalled noise. “I _happen_ to be shagging Pansy, thank you very much! I’m just helping our new roomie feel welcome! Something that _you_ evidently know nothing about.”

Marcus leaned in towards Hermione’s ear to whisper. _“Shagging is sex, right?”_

She leaned over to whisper back an affirmative _, “Yes.”_

He straightened, nodded, and smiled, proud of himself.

Tom snorted. “ _Non-exclusively_ shagging Pansy.”

“Yes, but that doesn’t mean that I can’t be _nice—_ “

“Right. With zero ulterior motive.”

“Gods, Tom, you _are_ a prick, you know that right?”

Hermione watched the two of them go back and forth a moment before she finally stepped in and waved at them both to stand down.

“Alright you two, put your cocks away and allow me to say something, yes?” When they both stopped huffing and puffing at each other, she smiled brightly. “While I am flattered that the idea even popped into one of your heads that I _may_ be shagging material, let me put this out there: if anyone in this household comes at me with a penis that is unwarranted or unwanted, I’ll cut it off and bludgeon you with it-“ She turned to point at Marcus. “-that _does_ include the gay and bisexual ones as well. Understood?”

All the men around her blinked at her for several seconds as she just stood there, looking quite cheery about delivering such a clear and blunt message. When there was an eventual slow series of nods as acknowledgement, she chirped merrily, “Brilliant!”

She turned on her heel and escorted herself to the garage.

Marcus stared after her and scratched his head.

“So…..when would it be ‘warranted’ though?”

 


	10. Chapter 10

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ah ha ha! So it begins: the song-fic shit. For folks re-reading this with its reupload from FFNet, you know the deal. For anyone new joining this Aca-adventure, what I start doing from here on out, is I provide you with a... "playlist" of sorts. These contain a list of songs and oftentimes suggested versions/arrangements you can listen to in order to help with the ambiance of the singing bits of this ridiculous mayhem. As stated on my FFNet upload...it only goes downhill from here. So if you weren't cringing and thinking about abandoning ship just yet...well, hold on to your horses, pitches.
> 
> **Aca-Playlist:** S &M by Rihanna as performed by Overboard

* * *

 

Hermione didn’t care much for labels but, that said, still never considered herself much of a stereotypical “girl.”

She had breasts, a vagina, and all the genetic coding to deem her a female of the species, but she’d never considered herself a “girl’s girl.” 

She didn’t often wear makeup or fuss with her hair--didn’t see the point.

She rarely dressed up unless it was for a very special occasion, though if pressed, she would admit to feeling quite snazzy in a fancy dress or suit and tie.

Hermione, even before she was homeless and in her strangest of strange situations, just didn’t  _ do _ “girl” things.

It was a combination of these things, perhaps, that hadn’t prepared her for how utterly  _ exhausting _ shopping could be.

The last time she had disposable income to spend on frivolous things like mall pretzels and squishy little plush things with fluff and beady eyes had been well over a year ago and even then, she’d been so invested in future career plans that she hadn’t bothered. 

Before their shopping trip, Hermione had been cycling between two pairs of work slacks, an embarrassing pair of non-skid plain black sneakers and mixed terrain hiking boots, and a handful of darkly colored shirts that showed very little in the way of coffee and flavored syrup stains. It was best to not think about the seven pairs of knickers and sports bras to her name. When the truth about just how little in the way of functional clothing she had remaining came out, Abraxas nearly lost his head. 

At the man’s insistence and after a lot of fighting on the subject, Hermione allowed him to purchase a few things for her on the request that he would shut the hell up about it all. He seemed satisfied with it, though when he’d commented on her choosing sensible support for her lovelies versus some pleasant satiny brassiere he’d nearly ran into an accidental castration.

That had settled it neatly enough.

Now, after the longest Sunday she’d had in ages, Hermione laid sprawled on her stomach on her thin fleece blanket with some sort of memory foam pillow that Marcus insisted was his old one and not at all the one that he bought while they were out – he even went into his room, rustled around, and generally made a big production of changing pillowcases. The boys had convinced her to at least drag out her bedding into the center of the bedroom instead of sleeping in the closet again. Abraxas had mysteriously mentioned she should get used to it and part of her suspected there would be a surprise mattress delivery in a few days whether she liked it or not.

Sleeping in the large open space, however, just  _ might _ have been why she was still awake and having to stubbornly trying to will herself into unconsciousness after four hours of settling down for sleep. Her face was smooshed into her pillow, Crookshanks under one arm and the tiny plush otter the boys had gotten her under the other – he was holding a seashell and had scraggly little whiskers sticking up every which way from his fuzzy otter cheeks. Hermione named him Mister Snuffles.

She blearily fumbled with the alarm clock Marcus brought in for her and glared at the bright red LED display.

_ 1:50 _ … _ ugh… _

Hermione shut her eyes, buried her face into the pillow again, and tried so very hard to get to sleep. Images of fuzzy otters, frolicking along a river bank and then eventually nodding off, floating on their backs in the water and holding hands as they slept so they didn’t drift away put a sleepy smile on her face and she felt the edges of that blissful rest creeping in.

So nice…

_ So relaxing… _

_ So… _

**_~`~`~_ **

**_Na na na Come on_ **

**_~`~`~_ **

The thudding, thumping sound of what sounded like a synthesizer rattled the floor beneath her and Hermione’s eyes shot back open.

**_~`~`~_ **

**_Na na na Come on_ **

**_~`~`~_ **

Having been pulled back from that brink, she was quite possibly more disoriented than if she’d been woken from a dead sleep.

**_~`~`~_ **

**_Na na na na na Come on_ **

**_Na na na Come on_ **

**_Come on Come on_ **

**_~`~`~_ **

The steady pounding beat only seemed to get louder, more insistent as percussion was added into the mix and the unmistakable lyrics of a song sounded out from somewhere below her.

**_~`~`~_ **

**_Na na na na Come on_ **

**_Na na na Come on_ **

**_~`~`~_ **

When it became clear that the music was not going to stop, Hermione snarled and struggled to push herself to her feet. She stumbled around her room, shuffling over to the closet to pick up one of the shirts she’d discarded in a pile and tugged it over her head following that by snatching up a pair of panties to put on so she could go bust some heads in somewhat acceptable attire.

“What-the-fucking- _ HELL,” _ she snarled.

**_~`~`~_ **

**_Na na na na na Come on_ **

**_Na na na Come on_ **

**_Come on Come on_ **

**_Na na na na_ **

**_~`~`~_ **

Hermione opened the door and squinted against the light in the hallway that had yet to be turned out. She was scrubbing at her eyes from the sudden shock of brightness as she felt along the wall and tripped over her own feet towards the stairwell. That insistent throb of sound with all their suggestive and sexy lyrics wafted through the house from a corner of the bottom level.

**_~`~`~_ **

**_Feels so good being bad_ **

**_There's no way I'm turning back_ **

**_Now the pain is my pleasure_ **

**_Cause nothing could measure_ **

**_~`~`~_ **

After nearly tumbling ass over head at least twice on the short trek downstairs, Hermione glared in the direction of the noise. It was coming from one of the rooms that Tom had refused to show her, one that had a suspicious custom made plaque hanging on the wall next to it that simply read “The Chamber.” She’d asked him only half-jokingly if it was a sex dungeon, to which he replied “no” but didn’t elaborate on what it  _ was _ , only that she wasn’t allowed in there – ESPECIALLY when the red light on the wall was lit up.

“Not a sex dungeon,” Hermione growled in confirmation to herself, “but about to be a bloodbath…”

**_~`~`~_ **

**_Love is great, love is fine_ **

**_Out the box, out of line_ **

**_The affliction of the feeling leaves me wanting more_ **

**_~`~`~_ **

Hermione arrived in the hall leading to The Chamber glaring so hard she was sure she’d soon set it aflame with her stare. She saw the light by the doorframe all lit up but also a bright light flooding into the hall from where the door appeared to be ajar. Her eyes narrowed to slits and her hands clenched at her sides.

Hermione was not a woman known for her patience.

Hermione was also not known as a woman who was particularly kind in the morning, especially when she was bordering on seeing ‘morning’ from the wrong side of the day.

**_~`~`~_ **

**_Cause I may be bad, but I'm perfectly good at it_ **

**_Sex in the air, I don't care, I love the smell of it_ **

**_Sticks and stones may break my bones but chains and whips excite me._ **

**_~`~`~_ **

Her seething, fuming, disoriented brain was driving her feet forward with no regard to the light or what she  _ was _ or  _ wasn’t _ supposed to do regarding this stupid room.

Hermione’s hand clamped over the knob of the partially opened door and shoved it open the rest of the way, mouth open and ready to rail into whoever it was that was making all the ruckus at ungodly hours of the day.

The sight that greeted her stilled her angry words in her throat.

Five men, four were definitely her roommates, one of them she wasn’t sure about, though he had longish, wavy black hair and appeared to be…beatboxing into a microphone?

They hadn’t noticed her yet, so it gave her another moment to try and fit the pictures together in her sleep deprived head.

The unknown man continued doing funny things with his mouth, the sounds coming out as a rhythmic vibration of noise that reminded her for certain of some sort of instrument…cymbals or really a hi-hat? Blaise also was apparently cupping a mic and took up a similar task, thumping out a bassline….with his  _ mouth. _ Abraxas and Marcus were poised near a mic stand and clapping to the sultry beat. And that only left…

Tom had his eyes shut and was the only one of them really facing the doorway, his microphone several inches from his mouth as those smooth, mellow words poured from his throat.

_ “Cause I may be bad, but I'm perfectly good at it… _ ”

Hermione’s eyes caught on the sensual line that his hand traced down his bared chest and stomach. 

_ “Sex in the air, I don't care, I love the smell of it!” _

His lip curled a little in a grin with the deviant lyrics rolling off his tongue and she got a glimpse of those perfectly straight teeth of his he’d only flashed at her in sneers before.

_ “Sticks and stones may break my bones but chains and whips excite me!” _

Hermione watched the path his fingers took as they trailed over the sculpted muscles of his body, playing at the edge of the waistband before running just  _ this _ side of lewdly over the bit of bulge of his crotch.

**_~`~`~_ **

**_Na na na na Come on Come on Come on_ **

**_I like it Like it Come on Come on Come on_ **

**_I like it Like it Come on Come on Come on_ **

**_I like it Like it Come on Come on Come on_ **

**_I like it Like it_ **

**_~`~`~_ **

The sound of the vocal percussion picked back up and the harmonious voices of Abraxas and Marcus – the latter having a  _ much _ higher singing voice than she would’ve pegged the large man for if asked – took up rather lovely background notes.

Their sound was so shockingly harmonious that a part of her could do nothing but stand there, propped heavily against the door jamb with her mouth hanging open.

As a result, her mouth dried as she watched them, all in their own little world.

Singing.

Dancing.

Causing her skin to prickle and break out into chill bumps from the sexy serenade that she never would have imagined could come from  _ this _ lot.

Marcus’ sweet voice picked up their next solo with a sexy smoothness that sent a shiver through her at the sound of it.  _ “Love is great, love is fine, out the box, out of line…” _

Was it necessary for half of them to be shirtless and dancing about in a rec room?

_ “The affliction of the feeling leaves me wanting more!” _

Hermione was having herself an inspection of her least favorite lead vocalist, her eyes locked onto the pelvic dimples she could see so clearly just above his dangerously low sitting pyjama bottoms.

“ _ Cause I may be bad, but I'm perfectly good at it!” _

Tom again?

Well…he may be a prat, but he  _ did  _ have a very nice voice…when he wasn’t using it to snark at her, anyway.

Quite melodic…

_ “Sex in the air, I don't care, I love the smell of it!” _

Her eyes finally released their focus on his pelvis and the way it was rolling sinuously with the notes of the song. Hermione’s exploratory gaze started on its own path back up, noting that while his arms and back were full of ink and interesting images, his front was quite barren of these things. She got sidetracked on the very sparse, barely there trail of hair that made a neat line from his waistband to his naval and tilted her head at an angle the continued the inspection, tracking them up through the impressive valley of his abdominal muscles.

They looked very soft, those little hairs, in such a contrast to the rigid personality he seemed to have – especially with him being a philosophy major.

Was it necessary to for him to have that many segments of muscles, though?

Like  _ really _ , was it? There were, what …eight?

Hermione took to counting them, gaze continuing upwards on its happy jaunt towards his face – making a pit stop to appreciate the bare expanse of chest and how solid each pectoral muscle looked from this distance. Both were topped with a dusky nipple and she… _ appreciated _ the symmetry.

Tom Riddle was very symmetrical.

_ “Sticks and stones may break my bones but chains and whips excite me—“ _

Extremely symmetrical.

All the way up to the eyes—

\--that were open.

And staring.

At her.

Standing in the doorway.

Hermione felt her face heat up as the accompanying vocals and funky lip percussion thing the one bloke was doing petered out and sputtered off awkwardly. She resisted shrinking under the hard stare of Tom Riddle, having been oh-so-blatantly caught in the act of giving him a good once over.

It was difficult, but she managed to stand her ground.

There was a stretch of strained silence as Hermione stood there, half propped against the doorframe clad only in a threadbare t-shirt and some knickers. She was about to speak in order to…to apologize or something…for she was  _ quite _ sure she wasn’t really supposed to have seen all of this, but he had to open his own asshole mouth before she got the chance.

“Which part about  _ not _ coming in here  _ ever _ but  _ ESPECIALLY  _ when the light was on, was not clear?”

She blinked and, at the sound of that lovely voice of his all hard and  _ holier than thou  _ once again, she remembered her earlier mission. Her eyes narrowed to slits. 

Hermione ignored his inflammatory question and instead grit out, “It is…two…a…m.”

For some reason, that was the last thing he expected to come out of Hermione’s mouth and so the reflexive  _ “what?”  _ was baffled and came out before he could process that particular response was probably not his best course of action.

She latched onto her rage at being jostled from her near sleep, successfully shoving her moment of embarrassment far,  _ far  _ back into the recesses of her mind. 

“Two, Tom. It is  _ two  _ in the bloody morning and while I’ve gathered the lot of you, and probably  _ this _ tosser—“ She waved a hand at the unnamed man.

He waved. “Regulus.”

_ Oh, he sounded as if he might be English as well. That was nice. _

She waved back and gave him a tight, cordial smile. “Hermione.”

“Pleasure.”

“Likewise.” And then she continued more scathingly, “--have made a career of being college students,  **_I_ ** have work in THREE HOURS!!”

Regulus seemed unfazed by her sudden and bossy appearance. 

The group, however, exchanged startled and confused looks between each other although it was Tom that asked, “You’re… _ not _ going to ask why we’re down here singing?”

Hermione made a strangled noise through her teeth and her hair practically frizzed with irritation. 

“Oh,  _ honestly _ , I’ve been homeless for a damned year! I’ve lived all along the California coast, and currently work in a bleedin’ coffee shop for the most piss-arse-shite shifts possible! I have seen  _ much _ stranger things than this, Tom Riddle. Perhaps, if anything, I should ask why five men are down here in a room labeled ‘The Chamber,’ singing about S&M instead of participating in it!”

“I’m game!” Blaise chirped.

Offended out of principle by his perkiness at that hour, Hermione turned a stern, waggling finger onto the dark skinned man. “You know what? It is far too early-late in the day for you!”

Blaise scoffed and retorted snottily, “Sorry Hermione, I can’t hear you over the sound of those headlights you’re flashing at us.” He punctuated his comment by poking out each of his index fingers over his chest.

Hermione looked down to see her nipples perked and all too noticeable through her tattered and worn shirt.

“You don’t hear light, you snarky twat but allow me to turn myself up for you,” she growled and flicked two pairs of Vs up with her fingers of both hands in a most heinous gesture. “Oh wait, sorry, I’ve got something more your speed—“ Hermione switched them out for two middle fingers and made a childish rocket launching noise as she brought them up to eye level, making them ‘blast off’. 

When she spoke again, she raised her voice mockingly, “There! Can you hear me now?”

Blaise gaped while Regulus barked out his laughter, snickers from the others, minus Tom who was still trying to wrap his head around this so very strange girl he’d inherited, floated around amongst them.

“Do me a favour, gents,” Hermione said slightly calmer now. “Call it a night?” She swiped both of her hands over her face and then ran them back over her hair, the motion lifting her shirt enough to show off a stripy pair of panties with two of the tiniest buttons in existence sewn to the front for no apparent reason other than to be adorable.

Abraxas clapped his hands together excitedly. “Oh, they fit! Those look great on you, Hermione! I told you they would!”

She managed a wan smile for her blond roommate. “Thanks, love. Now  _ can it _ , will you all?” And with that, she turned on her heel, giving them all a perfect view of her stripy backside, and tromped upstairs with a huff.

Blaise was still blinking at the space that Hermione had been occupying and not a one of them really seemed to know what to do. The silence was thick in the air once again until at last he laughed, loud and boisterous. 

“I think I like her after all.”

His laughs faded into amused chuckles and they murmured amongst themselves about their practice having run much longer than they’d anticipated or realized. Not a one of them really spoke much beyond that as they worked to pack up their gear.

All except Tom started bustling around, the exchange between Hermione and Abraxas running through his head. He finally whirled around and smacked Abraxas upside the head.

“OW!  _ What?! _ ”

Tom hissed, “You bought our new roommate  **_knickers_ ** ??”

“And an otter! They’re completely innocent— **_OW!!_ ** _ ” _

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For anyone still here and curious, I have a Pinterest board full of face casts and stuff for this silly story. You can find it here: https://www.pinterest.com/dulcedelechego/aca-demic-arrangements/


	11. Chapter 11

When Blaise made his way into the kitchen after his early Bowflex workout it was only 4:30 in the morning but his rapscallion of a roommate was already there, fixing herself a cup of coffee in a dandy looking travel mug with a  _ “Lockhart’s Java House” _ logo printed on its side.

“Don’t you get enough of that at your job?”

Hermione jumped with a startled screech, not having expected anyone to be up and about that early. She spilled some creamer on her shirt and made a disgruntled noise in the back of her throat, ripping it off immediately and rushing to the sink to blot at it. 

“Fucking dammit, Blaise! Make some noise or something before you sneak up on people. Fuck. What are you? A fucking cat?”

“Of all the names I’ve been called, not sure I’ve heard  _ that _ one before.” He scoffed and upon entering the kitchen, got a glance at some small images inked onto her skin, sitting beneath her bra straps. Blaise couldn’t be sure, but one looked like some sort of faded crest and the other a stylized set of music notes on a staff. Padding to the counter next to her, clad only in his gym sweats and a tee with a couple of small hand towels draped over his shoulder, he peered around to look at what sort of mess she’d been making.

“What do you want?” she groused and glared when he neared. She was clearly irate at simply existing in a conscious state at that hour of the day. 

“Coffee or tea?” he asked and pointed to her cup.

“Tea, of course. It’s a special blend made from dark roast coffee beans.” She hissed out a  _ “tosser” _ under her breath.

He rolled his eyes. “You’re a bit of a bitch, aren’t you?”

“I’d say ‘a bit’ is a dreadful underestimate if we’re being frank.”

Blaise chuckled and pulled a mug down from a nearby cabinet. “It’s settled, I  _ do _ like you.”

“I thought you said I was a hoodlum.” Hermione quirked a brow and watched him sift through a ceramic jar for some white and green sweetener packets.

“That doesn’t mean I can’t like you.”

She gave a tired chuckle and shook her head. Hermione dabbed her shirt with a fresh towel to dry the creamer spot, groaning when she got a whiff of the sugary poncy shit that Tom used. She made a mental note to bring something that wasn’t so godawful home from work now that she had access to a fridge. 

Folding her arms over the edge of the sink, she leaned over and resting her head on her forearms, whining, “Why does four am even  _ exist _ , Blaise? More importantly, why do people feel the need to go elsewhere for coffee at such an hour?”

Blaise picked up the metal carafe and swirled it around a little, estimating there was at least a cup, maybe two, left in it and poured himself his own drink. “Just to spite you, I’m sure.”

Hermione cracked her lids and glared up at him from where she leaned. She watched him empty his packets of artificial sweetener powder into his beverage where he made a show of deliberately foregoing the super sweet creamer. 

She waited until after he’d taken a sip to say, “That has sugar in it, too, you know?”

Blaise sputtered, coffee sputtering onto what bare skin of hers was exposed but the appalled look on his face was worth it. Remembering himself in that moment, he scrunched his nose and pursed his lips, picking up the torn packets of sweetener.

“It doesn’t! It’s all natural, it’s got—“

Hermione snatched one of his hand towels from his shoulder, wiped his spittle from her person, then reached past him into the cabinet where she’d discovered the box of the little things the other morning and handed it to him. 

“Natural sweeteners and a miscellany of additives.” She pointed to the nutritional label and traced her finger over the short ingredient list, landing on one of them. “Not sure what you’re attending classes for, love, but  _ that _ right there is sugar.”

The noise that escaped his mouth was a high pitched and strained sound resembling someone stepping on a dog toy.

Hermione patted him on the shoulder, tugged her shirt back on, and snatched up her hat and travel mug from the counter before making to leave. 

“Keep looking pretty and have a good day, darling.”

 

* * *

“MARCUS!”

_ “WHAT?” _

“DISHES IN THE FUCKING DISHWASHER!”

_ “SCREW YOU!” _

Blaise stomped to the edge of the kitchen to yell down the hall, raising his voice even more at the telltale sound of some sort of obnoxious explosions and gunfire coming from Marcus’ room as he played some shooting game -- that Blaise thought was stupid and immature -- on his computer. 

“ONE! You wish! And TWO! WATCH YOUR FUCKING LANGUAGE!”

In a huff, Blaise returned to his spot at the sink – stomping all the way  _ back _ as well – and resumed clearing it out with his lips curled in a sneer. He’d fallen into his usual rhythm of fussing to himself at the slobs he lived with and being neurotic about stopping every few minutes to make sure nothing had gotten under his fingernails because  _ fuck _ , he hated it when shit got beneath his fingernails, and neglected to hear the side door open and shut.

The movement of the refrigerator door opening is what finally got his attention and he screamed.

_ “AHH!!” _

And Hermione screamed as well. 

“AHHHHH!!” Clutching at her heart when it became obvious that he was only surprised, she ripped the dish scrubbing wand from his hands and smacked him with it. “BLEEDIN’  _ FUCKS! _ JESUS! Stop doing that whenever you see me!”

Dodging the smacks from the sudsy brush, Blaise calmed his own breathing and snatched the thing back, putting it back in its spot near the faucet before turning off the water. 

“ _ Now _ who’s a fucking cat?!” He snapped at her, eyes still huge and also accusatory.

Hermione stuck her tongue out at him. “ _ Language, _ ” she mocked.

Both of Blaise’s eyebrows raised at the funny little piercing and he waggled a finger at her. “That’s  _ my _ thing.”

She snorted and went back to pulling a few cartons of milk from her bag and depositing them into the fridge. “What? Are you the soddin’ hall monitor too?”

He was watching her and counted a total of four cartons of milk of varying fat percentages and then observed as she took out some small interesting looking stainless steel pitchers next. “Are those from your job?”

Hermione sent a casual look over her shoulder at him, shrugged, then went back to what she was doing. “I could see how you would think that. We  _ do _ have ones like this at work, after all.”

Blaise narrowed his eyes and followed her around the kitchen as she tried to store the things from her bag in cabinets. He went behind her and extracted them all from the places she’d found, replacing them in more appropriate spots that  _ clearly _ made more sense than where she was trying to put them.

“So you  _ didn’t _ steal these?” He asked holding what was most definitely a stack of tiny, clear espresso cups in one hand.

“Do you blokes always practice so late at night?”

“Well…no, usually we—HEY!” Blaise tromped around until he was in her line of vision again as she bustled around the kitchen putting more things away. “You’re avoiding the question!”

“What question?”

“GRANGER!”

“Shhhhshhshh!” Hermione hissed at him and snatched the espresso cups away. She put them in a cabinet and scowled when Blaise plucked them back out to put into a  _ different _ cabinet muttering  _ “cups are NOT mugs.” _  She sighed. “So I  _ may _ have nicked them-“

“ _ Nicked _ \--what is nicked?”

“Forcibly relocated.”

“So you  _ stole _ these.”

“’Stole’ is such a  _ harsh _ word…”

“HERMIONE!”

“Okay! Goodness, don’t get your knickers in a wad. It’s like I’m the only barista they ever have working anyway. I highly doubt anyone will miss them—“

“ _ Really _ not the point!”

“I do all the daily inventories, nobody will know-“

“My god, stop talking! Just stop talking!” Blaise covered his ears. “I’m an accessory to a crime! I’m a witness!  _ I’m _ a criminal just by not turning you in!”

Hermione paused in emptying her bag, walking back over to the dining table where she’d placed an all too fancy looking 100% biodegradable quad-cup holder and wiggled one of the cold blended drinks she brought home from its clutches. Her shoes made unflattering squeaking and sticking noises on the tile, but Blaise was still muttering about criminals when she peeled his hands from his ears.

“Here. This one’s for you.”

Calming for a moment, he took the drink in both hands and eyed it warily. “What’s this? These fancy things are Tom’s deal, not mine. I don’t—“

“Oh, shut up and say thank you. Also, I made it, so I can assure you it is the lowest calorie item on the menu. I made sure. And it will still taste much, much better than that tripe you call coffee otherwise.”

Hermione watched him as he brought the drink to eye level as if he could inspect each individual ingredient simply by staring hard at the murky liquid.

“Unless you’re afraid of my criminal cooties, I suppose.” She made to grab it back but he snatched it away from her reach merely by holding it over his head.

“I’m not a  _ child _ . I don’t think you have cooties, Granger, though I’m still debating the criminal portion of that sentiment.”

“Why Blaise, that’s the sweetest thing anyone’s said to me in a long time. BFFs?”

Blaise laughed lightly and nudged her away, bringing the drink back down and popping off the top so he could have a sip. When he visibly brightened, Hermione grinned and moved to put the rest of the drinks in the fridge.

“I got bored and made some new concoctions for the rest of the boys, if you see them, let them know, will you? Their names are on the cups.”

At that, Blaise’s brow furrowed. “I thought you worked this morning.”

Hermione paused at the edge of the kitchen and the living room, leaning against the dividing wall to give him a sleepy smirk. “I did. And I worked this evening. Funny how that  _ ‘working’ _ thing, well,  _ works _ , innit?”

He frowned. “All day?”

“No. Morning shift, then classes—“ She yawned, eyes watering, and arms coming up in a good, long, languid stretch that pulled a satisfying noise from her throat. “—then evening shift.”

“And you do this often?”

Hermione was dozing off even in the midst of their conversation now that she’d stopped moving around.

Blaise blinked. 

She’d started to snore and began slipping down the wall.

“…Hermione?”

She jolted awake again, eyes wide and alternating between blinking rapidly and darting around. “Huh? Oh…uh, yeah. Often enough.”

Chuckling, he padded over to her, nudging her off the wall and further towards the stairs. “Jesus woman. Go the fuck to sleep.”

Hermione nodded at the suggestion and had another nice stretch on her way up the stairs. “ _ Language _ —“ She said in a singsong voice.

Blaise just shook his head and smirked after her. “Crazy bitch.”


	12. Chapter 12

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  **Aca-Playlist:** Broken Wings by Mr. Mister (just a snippet)

* * *

 

By the time Hermione shuffled up to the house after a long day of classes and another two part AM-PM shift, she was barely keeping her eyes open.  

Her LIS professor had assigned the class to take a stance on the Dewey Decimal System and write a short persuasive essay due in two days supporting their opinion - fine as it is, needs re-categorization, Library of Congress all the way, or “other?” She wondered if this particular professor actually had a legitimate agenda housed in the little binder she walked around with in hand in the lecture hall or if they were merely doodles because some of her assignments were positively bonkers.  A part of Hermione hoped it was merely a mission to weed out the non-serious participants of the program so that only the strong, _true_ librarians would survive.  

She would be discovering mummies and saving the world any day now…clearly.

Hermione was tossing around all her ridiculous thoughts as her weary, so exhausted self kept moving on auto-pilot. So out of it, she nearly missed the large delivery truck parked in the drive on her way to unlock the side door.

Hand halfway to the knob, she blinked at it, hearing it’s engine start back up the same time the sound of the garage door closing erupted and suddenly _everything_ was loud. Furrowing her brow at the truck, now easing its fat, rickety self back into the street, she hummed curiously to herself but finally went inside.

She was promptly greeted by a rather sour faced Tom Riddle.

“You could’ve told me you were expecting a delivery.”

Hermione sneered at his ill greeting.

“Honey, I’m home,” she said.  “And I’m not expecting a delivery. What makes you think it’s mine?”

He fished out a yellow slip of paper from his pocket and thrust it at her.  Hermione fumbled with it, what with it being offered so close to her face, and snatched it from his fingers to read over the ticket.

As soon as her eyes scanned the delivery slip, Hermione groaned. “Fuck.  He didn’t…”

With a renewed burst of energy, she bounded upstairs so fast the weight of her bulky backpack nearly shot her into the upstairs hall from the momentum.

Tom quirked a brow and followed after, taking the stairs two at a time just in time to see her stop in her doorway and drop her bag to the floor.

“Sod it, he _did._  Fuck. I knew he would…that little wanker…”

“What? Did your precious _Abbie_ get you the wrong one?” Tom sounded quite perturbed.

Hermione jumped, startled by his sudden proximity then shot him a glare over her shoulder.  

“If you _must_ know, I told him explicitly NOT to get the bloody bed.”  

Her eyes scanned over the nice, simple mahogany frame of a new queen sized bed and its solid panel headboard.  Hermione scrubbed at her face and tried to pretend she wasn’t seeing what she knew to be an exquisitely comfortable mattress that, when she laid on it during her shopping adventure with Marc and Abraxas, she _might_ have nodded off on.

“I can’t accept this.”

Tom snorted. “Did you want the pony instead, princess?”

She knew he was being obnoxious - petulant may have been a better word - but all she could focus on was the size and value of the huge gift and her anxiety was climbing.  A million scenarios and conversations were buzzing through her head and she wasn’t sure what to make of this. There were always strings attached, she knew, always, always, always.  There always _had_ been and there always _would_ be. She knew this truth all too well.

When Hermione didn’t snap back with her usual sarcasm, Tom took a moment to look at her again. Given a good examination, he saw that she actually looked a bit… _terrified_.  

He frowned. “You really _did_ tell him not to...”

Hermione’s head bobbed frantically, eyes widening as more thoughts flitted through her skull and she felt her expression lean a bit more towards one of panic.

Tom’s mouth dropped open at the strange turn of events and he felt compelled to say _something_. “H-hey, I’m sure it was just some sort of…misunderstanding? Or something?”

She swallowed and blinked at him. Tom did well by not recoiling at just how much of the whites of her eyes were visible.

“I can’t,” she said in a harsh whisper as though someone unsavory might hear. “I can’t do _this_ again. The last time someone spent all sorts of money on me it…well, it didn’t really end well.  We need to take it back, now!  I don’t—“

“Hey, hey, hey!” He held a hand out in as soothing a fashion as he could and tried to be as calming as possible – not really Tom’s forte. “Abraxas is a good bloke! I’m sure he was just doing this as a friend like with all the…erm…knickers he bought you.”

Hermione swallowed, looked at the bed, then looked back at Tom. Her jaw tightened as she tried to keep her breathing steady.

“You think so?  He’s not…he’s not going to—y’know… ‘want to break it in’ and all? Or...break something else if I don’t?”

Tom _did_ recoil at that thought - for a couple reasons.

He felt a hair of displeasure roil in his gut at the thought of the girl _he_ took in rolling around with _Abraxas_ of all people. But he _also_ felt an inexplicable bubble of rage as he pondered what kind of filth might have propositioned the girl in her past to spook her like this.

“Abraxas would never,” Tom said. “I’d kill him first.”

He looked surprised at the last, his mouth having tacked it on without his explicit permission. The distraction passed, however, when she turned her still wide-eyed look his way looking the most vulnerable he’d seen her.

She sent another sidelong glance to the mattress and asked, “Really?”

Tom watched the longing for the nice cushy bed dance across her expression before disappearing just as quickly and said with certainty, “Yeah. He’s just…being nice.”  His eyes honed in on how she tugged her lip between her teeth and started worrying the poor little thing to death. When he realized he was staring, he cleared his throat and added, “Forget it, Granger. He’s more of a trust fund kid than I am.  This is like pocket change for him.  He loves spending mummy and daddy’s money.”

“Really?” she asked again, turning back to look at him.

He snorted. “Would I lie to you?”

“It’s highly likely,” she said, sounding a bit more like herself. “I’m still not convinced your tattoos aren’t just visual tallies for all the people you’ve surely murdered, after all.”

Tom shrugged.

 

* * *

“Hey,” Tom greeted Abraxas as he walked through the living room, returned from a trip to the liquor store.

Abraxas paused in his steps, one foot on the staircase to the upper floor with only a view of Tom’s bare back where he sat in his usual spot surrounded by books and journals.

He shifted his fresh bag of booze in his arms. “Hey?” He drew the word out cautiously.

“Delivery came today.”

Abraxas brightened, coming back off the step and turning more fully towards Tom. “Oh! Wonderful! How’d she like it?”

Tom shrugged, the funny skull and snake mural on his back winking with the movement.

“She was afraid you were trying to shag her,” he said.

 _“What?”_ Abraxas squawked.  “She thought—“

“You’re not.”

Abraxas raised a neatly manicured eyebrow at the way Tom spoke what probably should have been a question but was a very stern, curtly uttered statement.  

It made him smirk and he teased in a singsong voice. “And what if I was?”

Tom was on his feet and closing the distance between them so quickly it would’ve given Abraxas whiplash if he hadn’t been expecting it.

“You’re **_not_** ,” he said again.  

Abraxas held up his hands as best he could around the bag and shrugged. “I’m not _saying_ I am. But what if I was?”

“Abraxas,” Tom growled threateningly.

He scoffed. “Tom, don’t you trust me?  I haven’t done that sort of thing since I was a pup—“

“What about _last year?_ ”

“I’m a grown adult,” he continued as if he hadn’t heard him. “I don’t just go about buying fancy gifts for girls I want to shag—“

“ _PANSY_ —“

“Oh _shush_.” Abraxas huffed and planted a hand onto Tom’s chest when the man took another step forward. “I am **_not_ ** trying to buy her off, relax.”  He rolled his eyes when Tom continued glaring. “ _Really_ …on my mum.”

Only then did Tom visibly relax.

Abraxas turned an increasingly interested look onto his friend. “But Tom, the question remains.  What would you do if I _was?”_

He watched the twitch of muscle in Tom’s jaw and neck spasm as he fought against opening his mouth to say something in response.  The hollows of his cheeks sucked in, making his cheekbones look positively dangerous with the harsh shadows and Abraxas simply waited, an all too knowing smile plastered on his face.

“Nothing,” Tom said at last, stomping back to his pile of schoolwork.

Abraxas’ smile finally wilted as the Tom dug himself back into his work. Shaking his head, he turned back to make a tortuously slow climb up the stairs.

He hummed and sang exaggeratedly with each step.

 **_“Taaaaaaake these broken wiiiiings and learn to fly again, learn to live so free—“_ **   

Abraxas was pulling himself up to the second floor as if it were a most arduous task.

**_“When we hear…the voices sing…the book of love will open up and let us iiiiiinnn.”_ **

At the top of the stairs, he turned on a dime, extracted a bottle of vodka from his bag to hold before his mouth like a microphone and scrunched his eyes shut, falling to one knee.

**_“Take—these broken wiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiingssssssss!!”_ **

Abraxas dodged the heavy tome that came soaring through the air and hopped on the balls of his feet towards his room.

 

* * *

The bed was great.

It was better than great.

The bed was _brilliant._

The bed was _too_ brilliant.

Hermione nearly tumbled down the stairs, causing a ruckus and making all sorts of obnoxious noises in her rush to get out of the house.  If she hadn’t slept in on the great, brilliant, lovely, and so cushy mattress, she might actually be disturbing someone.  As it was, the boys were all gone already for the day.

She was still shoving books and her work hat into her backpack while trying to get it on her back at the same time as she tore across the front yard in the direction of campus.  Hermione made it to the drive when one of her bag straps snapped apart at her frenzied efforts and its contents spilled all over the concrete.  

“FUCK!” She dropped to her knees and continued her scrambling, stopping once to check her watch before continuing to shovel everything back inside while muttering a repeated stream of _“Bugger bugger bugger bugger bugger!”_

“Granger!”

Hermione looked up to see Tom, travel mug of coffee set on the roof of his car with a piece of toast in one hand and the other on the handle of the door.

“I’m late!” she yelled dismissively, refocusing her attention back to her mess of books and things.

A full day of classes followed by a closing shift at the coffee shop and her poor bag was worn ragged.

 _Fuck_ , she was going to need to get a new one.

Hermione could see if there were any more hours she could pick up to buy a better one but rent was coming up soon, too.

_Shit. FUCK. Just…fuck._

“Where’s the fire?”

His voice was closer and when Hermione looked up again, he was only a few feet away, munching placidly on his toast.  She huffed at his casual demeanor.

“I’ve got class in twenty minutes and this—“ Hermione sneered at her broken bag. “— _rubbish_ is not doing me any favors. I’m going to be late. There’s no way I’ll get to class on time having to fuss with this shite!”

“Wait.  You’re still walking to campus?”

Hermione hoped she could _hear_ how hard her eyes rolled at his question.

“ _Yes,_ I’m still walking. Do you know how much it costs to fuel that beast of mine? If you want rent money, something’s gotta give. Anyway, I don’t have time to—HEY! Give that back!”

She came to her feet after Tom hoisted the broken bag he’d so rudely yanked away from her off the ground and walked towards his car.

“Tom! TOM!” She glared and hurried after him. “RICKLE!  Give me my bag!”

“Get in the car, Granger.”

She frowned. “What?”

This time he did stop to look back at her even as he popped his trunk. “I’ll say it more slowly for you: get-in-the-car.”

When she didn’t and proceeded only to scowl, Tom sighed, tossed her bag into the trunk and slammed it shut before she could protest any further.  Tom continued on to the driver’s seat and got in but it wasn’t until he’d started the engine that she finally – _testily_ – climbed into the passenger seat.

The campus was a relatively short drive away…at least with the way Tom drove. He insisted on running through the drive thru of a fantastic breakfast place on the way, assuring her they would still get to their classes in plenty of time as he’d _“done it all before plenty of times.”_

Despite Hermione’s protests, he got them both breakfast sandwiches and she was officially introduced to the poncy food stop that made the delicious croissant thing she’d had the day they’d moved her things.

Hermione very _(not)_ daintily devoured the sandwich.

Tom made a face and comment about her starving herself but if he’d truly thought she looked utterly wrecked, at least he didn’t show it.

“Why didn’t you tell us you were walking still?”

Hermione shifted her attention from the passing landscape to the man who so studiously had his eyes set upon the road in front of him.  She shrugged and turned back to admire the sunrise and the palms whizzing by.  Her lids were already heavy from her meal and for as fast as Tom drove, it was a smooth ride.

“Seemed irrelevant,” she muttered.

Tom glanced at her, watched her shift lower into the seat and pillow her head more comfortably on the headrest. “How so?”

“I walk everywhere. Why would I tell you about the one place that I _still_ walk?” Hermione yawned and sighed, relaxing into the rhythmic hum of the engine.

“Point.”

Tom continued on with some idle conversation as he drove, more than he was used to, in fact. He asked questions about what she thought of the house so far and eventually the topic of his singing group came up.

“What’s the name?”

“Name?”

“Yeah...of your group?”

 _“…Rebellious Phrase_.”  It was a hesitant answer to her half-conscious question.  He’d had plenty of unpleasant reactions to the group’s name and wasn’t sure why he was surprised when hers was… _completely different._

Hermione smiled and snickered, but it was soft and almost sweet.  Her eyes were glazed and very nearly shut, but she still grinned.

“That’s actually…very clever.”

Tom was sure his eyebrows shot straight off his head and through the roof of his car.  He barely kept himself from turning to give her his most skeptical of looks to see if she was taking the piss.  

“Thanks,” he nearly stammered the word.  Tom’s grip on the steering wheel flexed and shifted, the leather creaking under the pressure.  He cautiously added, “We have a standing job every Friday night at the Hog’s Head. There’s a cover but if you ever want to watch, we’ll tell them you’re with us.”

It seemed like forever before he got a response and when it came, it wasn’t what he’d expected.

Hermione’s steady, light snoring rattled to life over the quiet blowing of the a/c unit.

Tom peeked at her from the corner of his eye and saw her head lolling back and forth against the window, mouth dropped open very slightly so her miniature Darth Vader-esque noises could escape.

The result was a smirk tugging at his lips so fiercely he couldn’t have controlled it if he’d wanted to.  

He managed to hold in his laughter at her nearly drooling on his interior, albeit barely. When he took a speed bump too fast, he reflexively reached out and caught her head in the cradle of his palm before she could smack into the window, carefully guiding her to the headrest instead.

The treacherous thought that her hair was much softer than it appeared invaded his head. He extracted his hand quickly, setting his typical grimace back in place and going back to gripping the wheel.

Tom pulled up to the building where Hermione had told him earlier she needed to be with minutes to spare.  

Rolling to a stop and placing the car in park as quietly as he could, he sighed, looking over at his snoozing passenger.  She’d curled onto her side as much as the seatbelt would allow – _Unsafely!_ Blaise would say – and had her cheek pillowed on the top of the seat with her hands tucked beneath her chin.  Tom thought she looked something like a big, frizzy, sleeping bunny with her hands like that…or really, more like a sleeping t-rex with what he knew of her.

He reached out with the intention of gently jostling her awake and hesitated with a frown.

 _Gods,_ _she looks knackered._

“Your fingers smell like bacon,” Hermione muttered.

Tom flinched at the sudden husky rumble of her already sleep laden voice and pulled his hand back. “We’re here.”

Hermione whined, stretching her legs out as far as she could along the floorboard and snuggling into the passenger seat with a petulant wriggle. “Five more minutes, mum.”

Tom snorted, unclipping her seatbelt so it zipped back across her lap and snapped her on the rear. “Out.”

Hermione fussed some more with the smallest of grins on her face but opened her door anyway. “Y’know I had the _best_ dream just now.”

“Really?”

She rolled off of the passenger seat as if she were made of goo, _oh_ so dramatically, until she was kneeling outside the car with her elbows on the vacated spot.

“Mmhmm. I dreamt you _weren’t_ and unholy arsehole and we went frolicking about ruling the world with bacon, egg, and cheese croissants and that terrible blended coffee drink you make me make for you all the time.  Only it was iced, so it was a tad more palatable.”

Tom laughed.

“It’s only terrible because you make it.” He reached over to palm her face, teasingly pushing her back out of the car.  “Now get out of here before you drool any more on the leather.”

Hermione responded by dragging her tongue along his palm, causing him to jerk away in surprise.

_“Euuuugh!”_

The pair of them both made faces.

“Ugh, you taste like _buttery_ bacon.”

Hermione was smacking her lips and scrunching her nose in a way that – _God help him_ – Tom found not at all unattractive and quite possibly “adorable” if such a word existed within his vocabulary.

He fixed her with his best sneer and went about swiping the one hand on his trouser leg, using the other to find the button to pop his trunk. “You’re _disgusting_ , woman.”

She said nothing else to him, simply cackled as evilly as she could muster, and collected her things from the back of his car.  Hermione slammed the trunk lid, gave it two heavy handed taps once it was secured and waved at him before jogging to the building and, he surmised, to class.

He lingered there for many moments, brow dipping comically low while he continued to stare after her.

Tom couldn’t shake the way the press of her tongue felt dragging over his palm.

The feel of that small metal ball of her piercing tickling across the skin…

The most interesting tingles that’d shot up his arm…

It was…

It was……

_It was very much time for him to get to his own class._

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello lovely readers! I wanted to let you all know that I’m having to update my editing and posting schedule to accommodate my daytime work schedule better so this story may be moving to a once a week update schedule soon until further notice (or it’s completed - whichever comes first). 
> 
> I didn’t really see this one getting as much feedback or traffic as some of my others so hopefully that won’t put folks off too much, but let me know!
> 
> Thanks Lovelies,  
> -Slik


	13. Chapter 13

Wednesday.

Wednesdays were notoriously slow.

This particular Wednesday was positively torturous.

Hermione’s only class for the day was cancelled so she found herself with a great deal of time on her hands all of a sudden.  Since she was currently existing to only wake up, work, and do school work, Hermione had her time all plotted out to a tee.

All of her assignments were typically finished the day after they were given out so she had even more time to work and accrue money to continue not being homeless. She still hadn’t quite gotten to the level where she could buy food beyond what existed in the campus cafeteria once or twice a day but she was working on it.  And really, living off of coffee, blueberry muffins, and assorted scones otherwise wasn’t _terrible…_

The bell tinkled and some new annoying girl at the register, more annoying than Penny, greeted the newcomer.  Hermione went about cleaning her station, stocking cups and lids and straws until she heard the _“venti, cinnamon dolce latte, no whip”_ order.

Logically, she knew it wasn’t Tom.  It certainly didn’t sound like him and the uncertainty in which the man said it made her sure it wasn’t.  That didn’t, however, keep her from turning around, eyes wide and searching out the source.  

“Abraxas?”  When she realized he’d called his awkward order with an American accent, she snorted.

The man smiled charmingly, put in the rest of his order, paid, and then came around to the side of the counter to greet her.

“Hey, Hermione. Fancy meeting you here.” He waggled his pale eyebrows.

She grinned and grabbed up the cups that what’s-her-no-name passed over to begin her work.  

“Yes, quite a shock, I’m sure.”  

Hermione rustled about between the few different machines at her disposal, feeling Abraxas’ eyes tracking her in amazement.  

She was measuring and pouring the first drink when she asked, “What brings you out so late?  And…really, I didn’t even think you _drank_ coffee.”

“Well, I usually don’t, but I tried one of those drinks you made the other night and it was _quite_ good.” He leaned over the counter trying to scope out what she was doing.  “So I ordered one of those—hey, we have some little metal pitchers like that at home!”

Hermione gave him a sidelong glance then went back to mixing. “No we don’t.”

“Yeah, I’m pretty sure we—"

“No. We don’t.  But anyway, I’m glad you liked them!  You should be careful, though…drinking all this caffeine this late in the evening when you’re not used it?  You’ll be buzzing through the night.”

Abraxas gave her a dismissive wave. “That’s fine. We’ve got rehearsal tonight, so it works out.”

“Oh?” Hermione perked up at that. “For Friday, right?”

He nodded, grinning. “Yeah! Who told you about that?”

She pulled the next cup to her and saw “ _Rickle_ ” scrawled on the side.  Hermione shook her head and pulled a Sharpie off of her apron, crossing out the name and correcting it to “Riddle” before starting on the drink.  

“Tom, actually.”

Abraxas was back to leaning on the pickup counter watching her work, but he arched a brow at that, lips tilting in a smirk.

“ _Did_ he now?”

Hermione flushed at the way he said that.

“Yeah,” she said.  When he didn’t stop grinning at her she snapped at him, _“What?”_

“Nothing,” he chirped. “So are you coming?”

“What?” she asked again, this time her attention was very intensely focused on blending Tom’s drink.  

She’d started adding little things to it to see if he’d notice as idle experimentation and in doing so found that he actually liked a shake of nutmeg into his drink along with the cinnamon.  So far, she was pretty sure he hadn’t realized it, but his rate of consumption whenever he’d ordered it was higher when she put it in than when she left it out.  The manipulation of his coffee drinking amused her to no end.

Abraxas smiled at how methodically she was preparing Tom’s coffee, comparing it to the robotic motions she’d gone through with the others.

“Are you coming?  To the show? …on Friday?”

Hermione shrugged, shook a couple of teaspoons of nutmeg over Tom’s drink, and snapped a lid on. She popped all of Abraxas’ order into a cup holder and passed it to him.  

“Maybe?  I’ve got to work so—“

“You’ve _always_ got to work,” he huffed.

She smirked. “Yeah well, some of us aren’t filthy stinkin’ rich.”

“Hermione,” he whined, “You should really _try_.  We’d love it if you came to see us.”

She wasn’t sure if she could roll her eyes any harder at his little juvenile noises.  “Abraxas—“

“Hermioneeeeeeeee—“

She blinked at him.  “Abraxas I—“

“Come oooooooooooon—“

Hermione narrowed her eyes. “Will you stop your whinging?”

“Maybeeeeeeee—“

“OH MY GOD, Abraxas!”

“Hermioneeeeeee—“

“STOP!”  She flung her hands into the air and huffed. “I will _try_ , okay?”

The blond gave her the biggest, grayest puppy dog eyes she’d ever seen.  His lip even came out, _just_ a little.

Hermione scowled.  “Abraxas…I’ll _try._  That’s the best I can do.”

Abraxas gnawed on the corner of his lip.  “Promise?”

She snorted.  “Yeah, sure.  Promise.”

“Brilliant!”

Hermione flapped her hand at him, shooing him away. “Alright then, go and get to your pretty boy band party.”

He grinned and plucked up the cup holder.  “Can we expect you home any time soon?”

“Ehhh…” She checked her watch. “An hour?  A little longer maybe?”

Abraxas frowned at that and looked back to the writing on the shop’s window.  “I thought this place closes in five?”

“Yes,” she drew the word out with some amusement. “And we have to close and do little working class things I’m sure are positively plebeian to you.”

Abraxas clucked his tongue haughtily, playing along. “Right, right, of course.  And how long do these—“ He twirled his hand around in dismissive circles between them. “—utterly _common_ things take?”

“Another twenty to thirty minutes, surely.”

The serious frown was back. “Then why an hour? You’re just dodging me aren’t you?  You can _say_ so y’know.”

Hermione chortled and shook her head. “Usually takes me another half hour or so to walk home.”

“You’re _WALKING?!”_ Abraxas’ mouth dropped open.  “What? _WHY?”_

She gave him the strangest of looks, searching his expression to see if he was really just as appalled as he appeared.  When he was still gaping at her, she laughed. “What is it with you guys?  Is it truly that foreign of a concept?”

He sputtered and followed her around as she moved from one spot in her prep station to the next. “But you have a _car!_ ” he squawked.

“It’s not far, Abraxas.”  Hermione almost spouted off about fuel being expensive, but decided on the answer that wouldn’t get her some sort of preloaded gas card with obscene amounts of money dropped into it.

“But it’s DARK outside!” He flailed at the window trying to illustrate that it was, in fact, dark outside.

She raised an eyebrow and glanced up from cleaning out some pump tops before shaking her head and getting back to it.  “Don’t even start with that.”

“Hermione,” Abraxas began seriously, palms flat on the counter, “You are _not_ walking home by yourself at this hour!”  

Those dark eyes of hers snapped back up to his face holding the most dangerous look he’d ever seen directed his way. He resisted yelping in surprise…and maybe a little bit of fear.

“I-I mean…”

“Look—" She pointed a stern finger at him. “—you’re not my mum.  I am a grown woman who, might I add, can take quite good care of myself despite what you may think.  I am not some bloody charity case and I am not some helpless, hapless, delicate waif!  So the lot of you can stuff your little goodwill act!”

Abraxas’ brow furrowed. “But technically you really kind of _were_ at least a couple of those things—“

“I can cut you in your sleep.”

He pouted.

“Put that away.” She glared.

His lip stuck out more.

“Abraxas!”

“Hermioneeeeeeeeee—“

The last syllable of her name stretched on for what seemed forever, raising towards the end in a perfectly pitched noise that bordered on dog whistle territory.

Hermione let it go on for a handful of seconds before she snarled and threw a dish towel at him.

“WILL YOU FUCKING _STOP?!_ ”

He caught the rag but continued.  

For a moment she’d forgotten the man could sing and, as such, was really having very little issue holding his nearly shrill note for as long as he was; he sounded like a test for the Emergency Broadcasting System – but _only_ a test.

Swiping a hand over her face, she growled and finally said, “OKAY **_FINE!_ **  JESUS CHRIST, **_STOP!_ ** ”

And he did.

He smiled at her pleasantly.

“Marvelous!  I’ll wait for you in the car while you do your pleb things.”

Hermione snorted and let out a heavy, haggard sigh at the man’s back.  

“Spoilt tosser.” 

* * *

 

Abraxas and Hermione arrived back at the house laughing.

Abraxas had been enlightening her about the pool and Jacuzzi she’d yet to go and take advantage of since her arrival, threatening her with the impending autumn weather – which was not close _at all_ – and how she needed to act NOW or be _doooooooomed_ to wait several months before it was suitable bikini weather again.  She opted to keep the fact to herself that she had no such clothing in her possession lest she find Victoria’s Secret swims suddenly showing up at the house with some rather hopeful cup sizes addressed to her name.

“…wait, so…say it again.  What’s the difference?  I’m not sure I got it a hot tub is—no...wait, say again?”

“It’s _easy_ , Hermione!  Okay, so a Jacuzzi is merely a brand name of hot tub.  Therefore, all Jacuzzis are hot tubs, but not all hot tubs are Jacuzzis! Easy-peasy.”

“Ah, yes. It’s so clear to me now.”

_“Well, well. Mighty nice of you to show, Abraxas.”_

Abraxas’ head popped up and he turned abruptly to see Tom lounging on the couch looking so very irritated.  

 _Honestly_ , though, when did he not look irritated?

The man’s dark eyes caught sight of the two of them, Hermione’s arm looped through one of Abraxas’ with her other hand holding the carrier of drinks he’d sent the blond to fetch nearly an hour ago.  

“I told you to get us coffee, not bring home the bloody barista.”

Hermione raised an eyebrow at his foul mood but Abraxas scoffed and spoke first. “What the hell’s got your knickers in a wad, Tom?”

“What’s got my—“ Tom sneered and pushed to his feet, glare lingering on the way he had his hand folded over Hermione’s. “We have fucking _work_ to do!  You know Regulus’ time is limited during the week and here you are just… _frolicking_ around with Granger when we needed you back A-S-A-P!”

“Hey, now wait a fucking minute—“

“And you,” Tom stopped Hermione mid-sentence, pointing a finger at her, glare still in place, “had I known that extending a bloody helping hand to the homeless was going to cause me as much headache as it has so far, I might’ve thought on it longer.  If you could do me a favor, please, and re-work your shagging schedule so it _doesn’t_ interfere with what few commitments and responsibilities our dear Abbie has, it’d be _much_ appreciated.”

His snark was absolutely scathing that evening and the harshness of his delivery made both Abraxas _and_ Hermione jerk back in surprise.

“Tom!” Abraxas hissed. “We are NOT shagging.” He turned to Hermione and softened his tone to one of pleading. “Hermione, please don’t hit him again.” He turned back to Tom, yelling now. “He’s a big-fucking- ** _WANKER_ ** but he brings in the cash with that fucking **_IDIOT_ ** mouth of his!”

Hermione was still reeling from Tom’s strange behavior that she wasn’t even quite sure what she should say.  

He thought she was _shagging_ Abraxas?  

She wanted to laugh.  

She’d already been down that path once before with those pretty, pretty rich men…not a fucking chance.  And he was _there_ when she’d freaked out about the bed—he was THERE!  What the fucking _hell?_

She plucked the coffee she’d prepared for the stupid-face-stupid-nice-hair-having Tom Riddle from its spot in the holder and shoved the rest of the drinks at Abraxas.  Abraxas was so sure, with the few steps she took to close the distance between her and Tom, that Hermione was about to scald their roommate with that so carefully made beverage.

“My apologies, Tom,” Hermione said coldly and passed him the drink. “Won’t happen again. Have a good night, would you?”

She turned on her heel and marched upstairs, never once turning around or even glancing back in their direction as she marched to her room and slammed the door shut.

Abraxas waited until he was positive she was tucked away before snatching up a throw pillow and swinging with all of his weight at Tom’s head.  The man dodged the brunt of the blow but still ultimately was pummeled in the side of the face and sputtered, nearly spilling the cooling coffee all over himself.

“WATCH IT—“

“You are a bleeding _MORON!_ What on God’s green earth is _wrong_ with you, you outrageous twat?!”

“Hey, fuck you!”

Abraxas swung the pillow several more times with such rapid frequency, all Tom could do was curl into himself while standing, trying to dodge the fluffy thing.  

“You know, she was _just_ coming around to seeing that you might actually be an interesting bloke worth getting to know, but I’m pretty sure – no, I am _POSITIVE_ – you’ve just dashed that all to bits!”

Tom grimaced, feeling a hot flush creeping up his neck.  He turned his cup in his hands a few times and muttered grouchily, “The hell are you talking about?”

“Oh, sod it, Tom!  Like I’m blind?  I would call you a sissy when it comes to acknowledging your feelings, but that would merely be an insult to all sissies everywhere!  You like her!  I see it!  Blaise sees it! Marcus sees it!  Can you stop being a bleedin’ prick and ask her out already instead of parading around like a jealous twit?!”

“I’m not—“

“It’s like you’re twelve!  You don’t snark at a girl to get her to like you, Tom!  Try being charming for once instead of whatever bullshite _this_ is.  Jesus!”  Abraxas dropped the holder of drinks onto the coffee table and made his own way up the stairs.

“Hey!” Tom called out lamely. “What about practice?”

 _“Practice?”_ Abraxas paused on the stairs long enough to shoot Tom a disgusted look and continued on, grumbling, “You _are_ a sodding smeg.”

Tom glared at the man’s back and huffed, slumping back down onto the couch.  The bit of jealousy that _had_ mucked up his head as soon as he heard the couple laughing, joking, and bouncing in arm-in-arm faded and he replayed that awful display in his head again.  He groaned and frowned hard at the drink he was twisting round and round in his hands.

His heart dropped a little when he caught sight of the black script on the side of the cup where the ever persistent _“Rickle”_ abomination had been scribbled out and a neat, elegant cursive that read _“Riddle”_ had been written in its stead.

Tom was still wearing a horrid look on his face, lips all screwed up in a wretched mess as he fixated on the delicate, looping lines, when Blaise shuffled out of the rec room. He was wearing nothing but his pyjama trousers that had cartoonish interpretations of finger foods coupled with their names printed in equally cartoony scrawl near each picture.  The man shuffled around the couch and the coffee table to the small tray of drinks. He scanned the remaining ones, popped his iced coffee out, stuck a straw in and sipped it while he looked at Tom; the man looked as if he’d swallowed a toad.

“Mm mm mm,” Blaise said with pursed lips, a hand on his hips, and a judgmentally quirked eyebrow.

Tom looked up.

“You _are_ a sodding smeg,” Blaise repeated Abraxas’ earlier sentiment.

Tom’s neutral expression turned into a scowl. “You don’t even know what that means _._ ”

“I don’t have to know, to know that you _are_ one.”

He looked as though he wanted to sneer and protest but instead looked at his corrected name in Hermione’s neat script once more.  He placed his drink on the table and groaned, letting his head fall into his hands.

“You’re not wrong.”

Blaise huffed. “Of course not. I’m never wrong.”  

He resumed sipping his iced drink and shuffled back down the hall, leaving Tom to his – what _he_ liked to call – “miserable pining noises.”

 


	14. Chapter 14

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  **Aca-Playlist:**  
>  S&M by Rihanna as performed by Overboard  
> Stacy's Mom by Fountains of Wayne as performed by Bowling for Soup  
> Lollipop by MIKA as performed by the Treblemakers from Pitch Perfect 2  
> Good Girls Go Bad by Cobra Starship as performed by Pitch Slapped

Tom hovered outside Hermione’s bedroom door the following morning, his hand poised to knock but he hesitated, unsure if she’d even be up yet or not.

It just so happened Tom observed she had an early class on Thursdays and he suspected that, if she wasn’t already awake, she would need to be up soon. He was hoping to catch her before she left so that _perhaps_ he could try to dislodge the foot – the entire leg, really – he’d shoved all the way down his throat the night before.

Taking a deep breath and chastising himself for, as Abraxas put it, being a sissy, he rapped firmly on her door and waited.

And waited.

He frowned when there was nothing but resounding silence and knocked again.

Still nothing.

Tom gnawed on the inside of his cheek and looked behind him down the hall to see if anyone was coming but when he saw nothing, he twisted the knob very gently, finding it unlocked.

“Granger?” Tom called softly into the bedroom, knowing he really shouldn’t be doing this but slightly more driven to make amends. “Hey…Granger, you up?”

The room was pitch black but he could smell the telltale remnants of a hot shower wafting from the direction of the bathroom. He frowned, flipped on the light and padded inside, shoving his hands into his pyjama pockets with a great, exasperated sigh.

She’d already gone.

“Buggered that one up, real well, Tom,” he muttered to himself.

He was careful not to touch anything _inside_ her room lest it be _more_ creepy than it probably already was that he was in there without her. Giving the inside another once over to be sure she’d left he was nearly floored by the intense wave of guilt flooding through him when he saw her closet.

Her pillow and blanket were in the closet looking well slept in and it made him want to punch a wall. He remembered all too vividly how harshly he’d accused her of sleeping with Abraxas.

_You and your goddamn mouth, Riddle. FUCK._

Needing to very quickly get out of there, he flicked the light off and left, shutting the door firmly behind him. He was still grimacing when he went downstairs to the kitchen to get some coffee.

…where he immediately thought of his rough and tumble housemate as soon as the idea of coffee popped into his head.

_“FUCK.”_

“Good morning, smeg,” a voice greeted him merrily.

Tom looked up and saw Marcus at the stove, preparing to make what appeared to be a grilled cheese sandwich.

Tom narrowed his eyes. “You too?”

“Mmm,” Marc hummed in the affirmative. “Regs had something else to call you last night, but I can’t remember, so that’ll do.”

Slumping down into one of the dining room chairs, Tom moaned tiredly into his palms. “It’s like I live with a bunch of nosy birds,” he grumbled.

“Well, it’s not like we couldn’t hear you yelling at them like a jelly belly from down the hall.”

Tom made another disgruntled noise.

“After all that _RUDE_ shit that you said, we were concerned about her packing her stuff up and leaving this morning.”

 _That_ thought hadn’t occurred to him yet and Tom sat upright in his chair.

Marcus saw the man jolt upright, trying to look a lot calmer than he probably was, and gave him a look and a shake of the head before going back to starting on his sandwich.

“Yeah, fucker. Maybe next time you’ll think before you start throwing your weight around like that, ya _thick git!_ ”

“Hey, watch it, Flint,” Tom growled but then gave him a thoughtful look. “Good job, though, you’re starting to pick up the language.”

Marc grinned proudly and gave a single, sharp nod. “I’d leave her be for a minute if I were you. Blaise caught her this morning and offered to drive her to work or school, whichever it is she has—“

“School,” he said automatically.

The big man blinked at him then shook his head again. “He’s trying to fix your mess.”

Tom started to exhale a bit of a relieved sigh when it clicked _who_ it was had taken her.

“Wait. Did you say _Blaise_ is driving her?”

“Yup.”

“Oh _fuck._ ”

Marc couldn’t help the smallest, vindictive grin. “Eeeeeeyup.”

 **. . . . .**  

 

“That limey—what was the word again?”

“Todger.”

“That limey todger!”

Hermione snorted and sank further into the bucket seat of Blaise’s convertible. He had the top down and, while the wind was havoc on her hair even tied back, the breeze felt nice on her skin.

“Nice job on the accent. You no longer sound like you’re in a Pink Floyd video.”

Blaise grinned over at her. “Passable in polite company?”

That made her laugh.

“If by ‘polite company’ you mean crowds that are perfectly fine with your endless stream of amused curses, then sure.”

He chuckled and took another turn, heading to the breakfast place he and Tom and some of the others tended to enjoy before starting their day. Once they got on the main road leading to it, Blaise noticed that Hermione had gone quieter than she’d been yet that morning.

“Hey, Hoodlum,“ he said and she blinked over at him. “You alright?”

With a shrug, Hermione gave him a half smile and went back to looking out to the passing palm trees. “I’m good.”

Blaise frowned, waited until he’d shifted gears again then reached over to tug sharply on one of her tendrils of curls.

“OW!” she yelped with a glare, rubbing at her scalp. “What the fuck, Blaise?!”

“ _Language!_ ” he hissed, then said, “And you’re lying.”

Wiggling down further into his passenger seat, Hermione folded her arms with a huff.

“Hey,” Blaise said again.

Silence.

“Hermione!”

“ _What?!”_

“Don’t leave, okay?”

She rolled her eyes. “Really, I’m fine.”

“Yeah, and I like girls.”

Hermione gave him a sour look.

“Look. Don’t leave. Tom is…he’s a bit of an acquired taste. While he most definitely is a ‘ _limey todger’--”_ The sound of it in his wavering accent pulled a snort from her and he smirked. “--and a little bit…broken, he’s an okay guy.”

“An okay guy that accused me not once, but _twice_ of paying our housemate for things with sexual favors!”

“Okay, so he’s a _lot_ bit broken.” Blaise’s lips twitched down in a pronounced frown. “He’s just jealous, anyway.”

“Of _what?_ ”

He shot her a disbelieving look. “Uh, _hello?_ ”

“ _What?_ ”

“You’re serious with this shit?” At his question, she actually gave him a puzzled stare and he barked a laugh into the early morning air. “WOW! You two ARE a pair.”

 _“WHAT?”_ she asked again, irritation clear in the single word. Hermione turned towards him and was practically sitting sideways in her seat.

Pointing at her, Blaise said, “ _That’s_ not safe.” He poked at her until she was facing forward again. “Anyway, I can’t believe you’re really that clueless. Tom is jealous because he likes you and he’s gone all…neanderthal or something. I’m surprised he hasn’t tried to piss on you yet to mark his territory.”

Her nose scrunched at the thought. “Now, _that_ is disgusting.”

“Which part? The fact that Tom wants to get his cooties all up on your everything or the urine?”

Her lip curled. “Seriously, did I move into a house full of men or children?”

“I prefer to think of it all as an abode full of handsome man-children. Because, really, it’s hard to be masculine when your rent money comes from singing remixed pop hits and dancing on stage with bowties and little vaudeville hats.”

The blunt sincerity of his comment tricked a laugh out of her and Hermione rubbed at her face.

“You make my head hurt…I’m now imagining five grown men with obscene abdominal definition wearing tight Oxfords and plaid bowties.”

Blaise grinned lopsidedly. “Yeah, me too. We _are_ pretty hot.”

She rolled her eyes. “But _really_ though? It’s so excessive!”

“What is?”

“Those little dimple things!” Hermione wiggled in her seat so she could reach the spot just above her pelvic bone and poke at where she’d spotted them on Tom and him and that other English person the other night. “Here! What even _are_ those things? And why do you ALL have them?”

“Because who _doesn’t_ love an Adonis belt? Some devil’s horns? Some _come get some_?”

Groaning in an attempt to drown out the tittering giggles trying to squeak out of her instead, she said, “You’re a bloody _loon._ ”

“You feel better now, though. Right?”

She blinked him in a bit of surprise and gave the question some actual thought before flashing a small smile of her own and giving a nod. The silence between them was lighter as Blaise drove them to get those fancy breakfast sandwiches Hermione was quickly becoming addicted to.

They were nearly there when he scratched a little nervously at the back of his neck and said, “So don’t leave, okay? He didn’t mean any of what he said.”

“I’ll consider that when making my decision,” she said, lips twitching in a frown.

“You should consider coming to the show tomorrow night, too.”

“I’ve got to work.”

“We’re on late.”

“I’ll _consider_ it.” She sighed and folded her arms. “…are there really bowties _and_ hats?”

“ _Oh,_ yes.”

Blaise was back to grinning. And that grin turned into a quiet chuckle by the time they were pulling into the breakfast joint. When it wasn’t evident _what_ it was he was tittering about, Hermione scowled and waved an accusatory hand at him.

“What’s all that about?”

“Just imagining you two could fuck out your differences after the show and then see where it leaves you. Tom is _definitely_ more palatable in uniform.”

Hermione’s jaw dropped.

“My _GOD_ , do you have _no_ filter?”

“Oh, I do. Life is just more fun without it.”

 

* * *

 

Tom checked his watch and peeked around the edge of the heavy velveteen curtain with his typical scowl. The bar was packed, as it usually was, and at least half a dozen of the tables closest to the stage were filled with women that – in Tom’s opinion – were wearing _far_ too much makeup and perfume and far too little of everything else. While he wasn’t what he would consider a prude, there was something to be said about not meeting a woman’s lavender and vanilla drenched tits before being able to get to her face.

He was still scanning the crowd when a firm, yet not _too_ jostling, blow hit the back of his head and nearly sent his hat soaring past the curtain. Tom snatched it out of the air and ducked behind the drape again to glare at Blaise.

Blaise was setting his own hat on his head at a jaunty tilt and adjusting his suspenders and the rolls of his sleeves.

“She’ll be here.”

Tom’s jaw twitched. He ran a hand through his gelled hair, smoothing his normally wavy mop back into its suave, near pompadour state before replacing the flat topped hat.

When he looked as though he were about to protest, Blaise reached out and pinched his lips shut firmly, earning him a wrathful look.

“And you _will_ apologize to her after the show.”

Tom smacked his hand away, rubbing at his lips that already felt swollen.

“Sticking your nose everywhere it doesn’t belong again, Blaise?”

He scoffed. “Well, _one_ of us has to make sure you don’t die a virgin.”

“I’m not a bleeding virgin!” Tom flushed and reached out to smack him.

With a roll of his eyes, Blaise scoffed, “Might as well be. It’s been long enough since you—“

**_“Ladies and gentlemen!”_ **

Abraxas came hurrying in, looking suspiciously rumpled. “Come on, gents! Places!”

“Were you out back snogging Pans again?” Tom asked with narrowed eyes.

“No!” Abraxas rasped out huskily, grimaced, then extracted his pitch pipe from his pocket to find his proper key. “ _No,_ ” he said again, a little higher. At Tom’s skeptical look, he hushed and hurried them again. “PLACES!”

**_“We’d like to welcome you back again to The Hog’s Head live music night!”_ **

A round of applause sounded alongside mixed cheers.

Regulus and Marcus ambled on stage, grinning at their blond band mate while he fanned himself to chase away the pink to his neck and cheeks.

Marcus nudged the other man and pointed at Abraxas’ tented trousers.

“Someone's got a _Toner._ ”

Regulus had to cover his mouth to keep from bursting into laughter with seconds before curtain.

**_“Please turn your attention to the stage! Dig into those chicken fingers and raise your cups – and remember that Newcastle is on draft tonight for $1 a glass or $3 pints!”_ **

“Ugh.” Tom made a face and tilted his head from one side to the other until a series of satisfying cracks sounded. “Mate, you want to get that under control before curtain?”

Abraxas breathed deeply. _In – Professor McGonagall in a bikini. Out – nude. In – bikini. Out – nude._ He took another set of breaths for good measure, checked himself, then nodded. “A-okay.”

“Don’t you mean _‘aca-okay’_?”

 _“No!”_ Abraxas hissed at Regulus.

“Oh, your girlfriend not rubbing off on you then?”

“ _Something_ was rubbing off on him but I guess it wasn’t her mou—“

“Shut it, Blaise! And we are _not_ exclusive! Fucking tossers, the lot of you--”

 _“Laaaaanguage—“_ Blaise sing-songed and the others tittered like children.

**_“Now, without fuuuuuuurther ado, The Hog’s Head’s very own acapella seeeeeeeennnnnsations: Rebellious Phrase!”_ **

The cheers reached beyond the fabric barrier before it even started to rise, catcalls from all the women in the front row being the most noticeable of the bunch.

Tom rolled his eyes but by the time the curtain was fully drawn, the slyest of smiles turned up the corners of his lips and a huge, bright, hot-as-shit spotlight flooded the stage to highlight him and all of his crew. The front row erupted in screaming cheers, there was an _“I LOVE YOU TOM!”_ or two, and even a corner of masculine chanting to the tune of _“R-A-B! R-A-B!”_ – Regulus gave them a wink and a wave.

Tom tugged his mic off the stand and flashed one of the girls who was flailing and screaming in his general direction a twinkle filled wink, himself; she swooned _._

“Thank you all for coming out tonight,” Tom purred silkily into the microphone. “I hope you’ve all come ready to have a _good_ time—"

He reached up to his bowtie and yanked the thing loose, following it up with a jerk to his collar to pop open the first few buttons of his shirt. With an exaggerated sweep of his hand, he dragged his fingers down the entire length of his torso, stopping to hover at his belt buckle and pausing for the excited cheers of most of the female population in the audience. He flashed them a devilish smile and raked his fingers back up to stop and dip beneath the edge of the barely opened top, massaging at the brawny pec that just _barely_ peeked out from the parted edge.

“—because it’s time to get a little _bad_.”

**. ~ .**

**_Na na na Come on_ **

**_Na na na Come on_ **

**_Na na na na na Come on_ **

**_Na na na Come on_ **

**_Come on_ **

**_Come on…_ **

**‘ ~ ‘**

 

**. . . . .**

 

Hermione was scrubbing her station with fervor, really putting some elbow grease into getting the caramel syrup that seemed to have fused itself to the counter _out_.

“Penny—“

_“Twenty, forty, sixty, eighty, one...”_

She used one hand to scrub and the other to pop the drinks she’d made into a carrier.

“Penny—“

_“…sixty, seventy, eighty, two…”_

Hermione tugged off her cap, pulled off her apron, and folded them up neatly to shove into her bag with her books and a change of clothes that she didn’t even get to change into because the last little group of twerps wouldn’t get the hell out of the store.

When the girl was still counting and not even acknowledging her existence, Hermione shouted, “PENNY!”

Penny jumped and squeaked then whirled around to give Hermione a glare. _“WHAT?!”_

“I’m leaving!”

The girl’s face took on a largely puzzled look. “What?”

“I’m leaving! Going! Splitting! Running off! Toodle-loo!”

Penny frowned at the idea of locking up by herself. “You can’t leave!”

Hermione was shrugging into the straps of her ‘repaired’ backpack, testing the knot where she’d tied the broken strap together before running around to the outside of the counter and plucking up her drink tray.

“I think you’ll find that I absolutely can! Check the board, all the shift work is done, so—g’night Penny!”

“Hermione!”

She hurried out the door as if she was on fire and running for the ocean. “BYE!”

  **. . . . .**

 

The crowd was drunk – with $3 pints, that didn’t tend to take long – and it was just as well, seeing how the drunker they got, the more of the group’s made-in-the-basement-CDs were purchased and the heavier their tip bucket got.

Tom stepped his way off the stage to one of the spare tables shoved up against the wall nearby and was swarmed by a handful of women of various ages, doing their drunken dancing… _thing_ they did.

Blaise was _dip-dip-dip_ -ing out a tune alongside strange warbling noises that Regulus was somehow managing to do with his mouth and a funny maneuvering of his cheek and neck muscles.

Tom squatted down in front of thirty-plus-girl-with-too-much-eye-makeup, plopped his hat atop her head, and was rewarded with a very wide, very drunk smile. He returned it with an oh-so-charming one of his own, resisting the sneer trying to turn his lip.

**_“You know, I’m not the little boy that I used to be. I’m all grown up now, baby can’t you see?”_ **

Marcus and Abraxas watched Tom politely peel a woman’s hand away from his chest while smiling the panty melting, money belt loosening, smile that made dealing with the ass marginally easier. They continued harmonizing with him while taking bets on how long he could stand to ‘mingle’ with his fans.

**_“Stacy’s mom has got it goin’ on! She’s all I want and I’ve waited for so— long.”_ **

_One…two…three…_

**_“Stacy, can’t you see? You’re just not the girl for me!”_ **

_…five…six…seven…_

**_“I know it might be wrong, but I’m in love with Stacy’s mom!”_ **

_…nine…te—_

Tom managed to leap back over to the edge of the stage and _not_ look as though he was scrambling to get away from the drunk girls that managed to snag his tie and get his belt loose from the loop. His footing was rocky and he teetered, doing well to keep a cheeky smirk in place during the whole thing.

Blaise reached out and tugged the man on stage before he fell into the waiting arms of his entourage, never once faltering his bassline.

**_“Stacy's mom has go—t it goin' on—”_ **

Abraxas slapped a five into Marcus’ waiting palm with a scowl tugging at his features.

**_“Stacy's mom has go—t it goin' on—”_ **

  **. . . . .**

 

Hermione was running.

She was taking every shortcut she knew of to run from the coffee shop to this stupid pub.

She had never been much of one for pubs, preferring to get pissed in the comforts of her own home rather than having to go out and pay to do it.

Seeing as how she’d had neither a ‘home’ nor disposable income to use for such activities for quite some time, however, it was not surprising that she only had an inkling of where the bloody place was.

It was supposedly only a few blocks down the road!

Something about a turn here.

Or was it _there_?

_Fuck._

  **. . . . .**

 

“Sorry Miss. It’s a ten dollar cover. And you can’t take those inside.”

Hermione huffed and cradled her tray of iced coffees protectively against her bosom. “Ten dollars? I don’t have ten dollars!”

The man – who had to have been at least three feet wide at the shoulder if Hermione were to guess – shrugged those massive traps and made a motion to wave in the couple standing behind her. She bristled and stepped in front of them, not yet finished with the big brute.

“Hey now! I’m not done here!”

“You got ten bucks?”

“Well…no—“

“Then we’re done here.”

Hermione loosed an indignant squawk and stammered words that she never thought she’d ever actually have to say. “But…uh…I’m with the band.”

He snorted and rolled his eyes. “Yeah, you and everyone else.”

Her temper was starting to simmer and Hermione wasn’t entirely sure how much longer she would be able to keep it under wraps. She fixed the bouncer with a glare and ran her tongue across her teeth.

“You _can’t_ keep me out,” she insisted, weathering his raised eyebrow rather stoically. “Riddle is expecting me!”

“Right. An’ who’re you?” He nodded at the drinks she was still hugging. “His caterer?”

Hermione felt the urge to crack her knuckles…followed by the urge to crack her knuckles on someone’s _face_. She sucked on the inside of her cheek but let it go. “I _happen_ to be his girlfriend!”

That gave the man pause for all of two seconds before he huffed out a loud laugh. “Yeah,” he said again, “’cause I haven’t heard **_that_ ** one before!”

She scrunched her face in disbelief.

_Other girls actually willingly tagged themselves as that wanker’s girlfriend?_

“Look, lady, sorry but if you ain’t got ten bucks, you ain’t getting’ in.”

Hermione’s scowl intensified and she rolled her shoulders and sucked her teeth.

The man raised both brows in amusement at the look on her face and she simply smiled back…

  **. . . . .**

 

**_“Sucking too hard on your lollipop! Oh, love’s gonna get you down. Sucking too hard on your lollipop! Oh, love’s gonna get you down.”_ **

**_“Say love!”_ **

**_“Say love!”_ **

**_“Oh, love’s gonna get you down!”_ **

Hermione smoothed her now drinkless hands back over her frizzed hair, still glaring in the general direction of the bouncer – pubs with bouncers, that was just _silly_ – and now with nothing to show for the boys. She’d been reluctant to even come tonight, not actually being very good with ‘socializing’, but Blaise made it seem more than a little intriguing with the way he’d described their performances. The later it had gotten in the day and the closer to the end of her shift, the more and more she’d found herself actually excited to go.

She was huffing and puffing a bit still at _not_ actually being able to get in free like Tom said she would, but she’d hassle him about that later. Right then, she was worrying that she’d missed them completely. Her eyes were scanning over the crowd of the stupidly packed bar, noting the cluster of young men and women – also all college age – hovering around the stage doing some sort of bumpy grindy sad excuse for dancing thing.

Hermione frowned, jostled by the press of bodies and was about to start cutting a swathe through the masses so she could at least _see_ if they were still up there, when a familiar voice came vibrating out of the mounted speakers on the walls.

**_“Thank you! Thank you all for coming out tonight! We’ve got one more quick one before we leave the stage tonight! If you enjoyed yourselves this evening, please be sure to look for us at the back! CDs are available and, as always, the bucket is on the bar. Once again, we are Rebellious Phrase and we thank you for coming out!”_ **

Hermione blinked, mouth falling open in shock _._

She was _fairly_ certain that was the first time since meeting the man she’d ever heard Tom Riddle say "thank you."

And he said it **_THREE TIMES_ **!

_Surely, she’d died._

A familiar set of voices rang out in an upbeat sort of chorus.

**_. ~ ._ **

**_I make them good girls go bad!_ **

**_‘ ~ ‘_ **

 

The smell of sweat and booze filled her nostrils and made her scrunch her nose. Hermione made some disgruntled noises as she kept trying to squeeze her way through the press of bodies to see while not flipping a table onto some drunkard’s head to get them to _move-out-the-fuckin’-way!_

Normally, she didn’t mind being short but times like this, it was less than optimal.

She started making her way through the crowd where she could, trying to find a better vantage point so she could actually _watch_ the boys perform.

 

**_. ~ ._ **

**_I make them good girls go—_ **

**_‘ ~ ‘_ **

 

When she was finally able to get to one side of the room – _stage left_ – and clamber up on to stand on the seat of a rickety and worn wooden stool, Hermione’s mouth dropped open for a second time that evening.

This time, it was for a very different reason.

 

**_. ~ ._ **

**_Good girls go bad!_ **

**_‘ ~ ‘_ **

 

It was funny how she’d seen these same young men singing and dancing in the comforts of their own home, half of them in their nightclothes or… _half_ in their nightclothes waiting still for that oil and the command from God to wrassle in a kiddie pool full of it, and she’d been _mostly_ unaffected.

Now, though, with them up there, elevated above the crowd who was bouncing and pissed out of their gourds, she really couldn’t keep her eyes off of them.

It was a touch more than an impolite stare.

And by ‘a touch’, she meant, she was staring with blatant fascination.

**_“I know your type—“_ **

_“Your type!”_

Their lead vocalist, Tom Riddle, was center stage, clad in dark corduroy trousers with equally dark suspenders shrugged off and knocking against the sides of his thighs as he danced about. His Oxford had started out neatly pressed, she was sure, but was now unbuttoned to the middle of his chest and spread open to allow for a nice little gander at what lay beneath. What was actually remaining and covering him looked decidedly rumpled and sweat ridden.

**_“You’re daddy's lil' girl.”_ **

The material had become nearly translucent in places, but mostly around his abdomen where the thin cotton had decided it would be a brilliant idea to cling to every single one of his too many mounds and valleys of muscle.

For the record, it _was_ brilliant.

 **_“Just take a bite!”_ ** Tom’s pearly white teeth gnashed playfully at one of the audience members who was draping themselves over the stage and the girl yelped and giggled before scooting off of it.

_“One bite!”_

His clingy, sweaty, rumply shirt dipped into those little crevices between the outside of his abs and the insides of his pelvic bone.

What had Blaise said those were?

_Oh yes. An Adonis belt._

**_“Let me shake up your world.”_ ** He slid a hand over his chest and ended up spreading the sweat there around so what showed of the smooth skin under his shirt was shinier and just... _glistening._

Hermione’s tongue came out to wet her lips...because the air was stifling.

Not because of the way his muscles strained at his shirt or the gorgeous way the patterns of his black and gray tattoos wove fluidly around his exposed forearms, looking _so_ deliciously dark against the stark white of it...but because the air was stifling.

His hips swiveled suggestively along to the energized pop notes his mates were singing into their microphones.

Hermione blew out a long, slow breath that nearly turned into a whistle at all that…stifling air.

 **_“But just_ ** **_one_ ** **_night couldn't be so wrong! I'm gonna make you lose control!”_ **

His sung words rubbed along Hermione’s skin like a nice, warm, fuzzy blanket while Tom’s fingers danced over every individual dip of his stomach, lingering at the ones right at his trouser waistband.

_Adonis belt indeed…_

Marcus snatched up the mic that he and Abraxas had been sharing up until then and tossed his hair flippantly. He pushed a pair of invisible glasses up the bridge of his nose and pointed defiantly at Tom before singing out in that octave that Hermione would have never have pegged him for upon meeting him. **_“I know your type!”_ **

_“Your type!”_

Marc, held a halting hand out to Tom’s face. **_“Boy, you're dangerous!”_ **

Tom flashed the most charming smile Hermione had ever seen on the man’s face towards his audience, giving them a sly wink.

It made something low in her stomach tingle.

**_“Yeah, you're that guy—“_ **

_“That guy!”_

**_“—I’d be stupid to trust!”_ **

**_“But just one night couldn't be so wrong!”_ ** The big man put the back of a hand to his forehead in a woeful gesture of surrender then tossed those invisible glasses aside deviously to shake out his short, short hair. **_“You make me want to lose control!”_ **

**_“She was so--o shy! 'Til I dro—ve her wild!”_ ** Tom took Marcus’ hand in his and brought it near his lips, tugged him close, then spun him out of his arms, the man loosening his tie and tossing it to the crowd. **_“I make them good girls go bad! I make them good girls go—“_ **

_“Good girls go bad—“_

**“Bad!”**

Hermione laughed at the show.

She’d quickly learned that Abraxas, Marcus, and Blaise – especially Blaise – had a penchant for being a goofy, but she never even imagined Tom could be anything _but_ the ever so serious and scowling individual that always greeted her with his standard harrumphs.

The boys were split up on stage, Tom, Regulus, and Blaise on one side, Abraxas and Marcus on the other, and they were clapping and stomping out her favorite part of this particular song.

Abraxas and Marcus clapped out the beat while the others shouted, **_“Ohhhh—! She got a way with them boys in the place, treat 'em like they don't stand a chance!”_ **

And, to her delight, the boys switched with the other two doing their best falsetto impression of ladies in the club. _“And he got a way with them girls in the back actin' like they too hot to dance!”_

**_“Yeah she got a way with them boys in the place, treat 'em like they don't stand a chance!”_ **

_“And he got a way with them girls in the back actin' like they too hot to dance!”_

Tom turned that devil’s grin to the crowd once more. **_“I make them good girls go bad! I make them good girls go—“_ **

_“What?”_

**_“Good girls go bad!”_ **

_“Bad.”_

The audience burst into a loud set of applause after the final whispered word of the song.

Tom’s little fanclub was cheering.

That same group of gentlemen from the start were chanting their _R-A-B_ beatboxing praise – albeit in a much more drunken fashion than an hour or so ago.

But there was one sharp whistle that carried over it all, followed by a _“Yeah! GET IT, RICKLE!”_ that turned Tom’s head.

His vision was spotty from the stage lights and there was certainly a good bit of sweat dripping into his eyes, but he was positive of who that tiny figure was with her big, frizzy mane, barely contained behind her as she stood on a table to his right, clapping and grinning and waving.

_Hermione._

The boys were taking their bows, slapping some hands that were reaching up past the edge of the stage, and making their way down the small staircase to its side. There were whistles and more yells of drunken enjoyment and the like, but Tom’s stare was glued to the girl.

She was still grinning – no, she was full on smiling – at _him_.

She was something that didn’t really belong in a bar.

She was fresh from work in her dreary, coffee and syrup darkened clothes.

And she’d actually come to see them.

He caught her eyes and felt the corners of his mouth pulling up in a smile, watching as her expression brightened with his.

Before he knew it, he was walking across the stage to hop off and retrieve her from her perch.


	15. Chapter 15

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  **Aca-Playlist:** Before He Cheats by Carrie Underwood

Hermione leaned back against the bar, cradling a beer bottle between both of her hands and eyed Tom who was waiting for his own order next to her. The boys had greeted her and already dispersed. Abraxas disappeared somewhere with a short haired girl who had fabulous eye makeup and Blaise had ushered the rest of them away with a surreptitious wink at the pair of them. 

Tom ran a hand back through his hair, skin still shining with sweat and when he caught her looking at him, he quickly averted his gaze again.

It wasn’t until he’d gotten a beverage of his own – a Fresca, of course – and taken to leaning against the bar next to her that he spoke. 

“You came.” He’d proudly kept the pleased lilt out of his voice and had tempered it to sound much closer to his normal, mild tone.

Nodding, Hermione took a swig of her beer and swallowed. 

“I did. I almost missed it all thanks to the brutish twerp at the door. He was a right piece of work, that one.”

“Joe?” He straightened and his neutral expression turned into something a little different. “What did he do?”

“Tried to make me pay cover is what!” She huffed. “I even uttered the most pathetic words I’d never thought would pass my lips!”

He looked at her, brows raised.

“I told him I was with the  _ band! _ ” 

Her appalled expression caused him a moment’s pause and then a laugh burst out of him.

“Don’t laugh!” she said but her own grin was tugging at her lips as she teased. “It was sad. It’s like we’re back to the bloody nineties or something.”

Tom sipped his drink, chuckling. He nodded at a tired looking group of girls that were occasionally sending some very withering glares towards the woman at his side. 

“I’ll add you to the list of fangirls.”

Hermione snorted indelicately. 

“Thanks, but no thanks.” She shrugged and added, “If I had known you had your own little fan following, I wouldn’t have tried the ‘I’m his girlfriend’ thing either.”

Tom sputtered and choked, his Fresca dribbling past his lips in his surprise. 

Swiping a forearm across his mouth to clean himself up, he eyed her cautiously. “Did you really—”

She waved him off, but could feel the blush creeping into her neck and cheeks. “Don’t worry, Rickle. He believed that one way less than the truth…”

“So, how did you end up getting in?”

The question riled her and she huffed immediately. “He took my drinks!””

“Your...drinks?”

“Yes! I brought all of you some from work since I knew I was heading here! First he threw a tizzy about me having them at all – ‘no outside food and drink’ blah blah– and then he was being a twat about letting me in! Since I couldn’t take them with me, he accepted them as ‘payment’…so to speak.”

Her animated flailing was so expressive and the expressions she made were so ridiculous, Tom was doing an awful job of keeping his amusement off his face.

When she caught his look, Hermione huffed again, jutting out her chin and sniffing at him. “I hope you weren’t craving perfectly made iced coffee.”

He bit the inside of his cheek, doing his best to stifle the smile that kept worming its way to the surface at her teasing. 

“As a matter of fact, I  _ was _ craving just that,” he drawled. “Perhaps it’s fortuitous that Joe confiscated them all from you, however, seeing as if I’d tasted the swill you brought with you, I would have been sorely disappointed.”

The noise that escaped her was high pitched and squeaky and Tom couldn’t hold in the laughter at her expense.

Hermione sputtered indignantly but had trouble taking her eyes off the way his own crinkled at the edges when he looked at her, waiting for her rebuttal. It had been some time since she’d actually met someone she could banter with— _ quite _ some time.

Sticking her tongue out at him, she grumped. “You’re a right bastard, Rickle. Has anyone ever told you that?”

Tom took a sip of his drink and replied seriously with a small nod. “It’s come up once or twice.”

It tricked a laugh from her and she shook her head and sighed.

Tom found himself watching her. Simply watching the way she leaned against the counter behind them with her body ever so slightly turned towards his. Every few seconds, she looked like she might be about to say something or it appeared there was a series of intense thoughts fluttering through that smartassed noggin of hers that she decided to drown in her beer rather than indulge. 

When Tom realized he was staring, he rubbed the back of his neck, cleared his throat, and finally said, “Hey, Granger—“

“Mm?” She replied without looking, her dark eyes focused  _ really  _ hard on a tile several paces away.

“I’m...sorry about that...”

Hermione turned to look at him, intrigued by the apology.

There was a dusting of color over the tops of her cheeks and nose that seemed to highlight the sparse smattering of freckles there that Tom couldn’t peel his attention from. Her head tilted curiously and he understood that his train of thought had sputtered off into nothingness for a moment. Tom cleared his throat again and rushed out the rest of a sentence that wasn’t at all what he  _ meant _ . 

“The door thing,” he said lamely, “I was sure I’d told him to expect you but—“

Her hopeful expression faltered but she shrugged it off, shooting him a lopsided grin as if whatever it was that’d just happened, hadn’t happened at all. 

“Hey, don’t worry about it. He looked like the kind of bloke that’s taken one too many blows to the head over the years anyway. There’s no telling if you did or didn’t. He likely wouldn’t even remember if you _ had _ .”

Tom smirked at that and another  _ really _ fucking awkward silence stretched between them.

They both stared forward, both leaning, both merely inches away from touching at the elbows, and both of them  _ acutely _ aware of this fact.

The stage was being set up for open mic karaoke and in the transition, the background noise within the bar grew uncomfortably louder. 

Hermione shifted next to him, took another sip of her drink and said, “You were good.”

Tom’s eyes darted back to her with question in them.

“A-all of you were good, I mean,” she amended quickly with another darkening flush to her cheeks. “You have a…a great harmony really…a good tone… And Marcus? Bloody hell, is he a  _ countertenor _ ? Almost, right? That’s crazy…you wouldn’t think it to look at the man—” 

His brow furrowed as she stumbled over her words. The way she offered compliments using such specific terms…terms most people wouldn’t know unless they… 

“You sing?”

Hermione blinked back up at him, eyes huge, and answered far too quickly, “No!” She amended more calmly – too calmly, “I don’t. I mean. No, I just—“

_ “Tom! There you are, mate!” _

If possible, the whites of Hermione’s eyes became even more visible in that moment.

_ Dear Lord…in the name of all that was holy… _

Hermione watched Tom’s attention refocus forward and she caught the turn of his lips before he could morph it into something more polite. She very discreetly tried to sneak away while he was distracted. 

“Malfoy,” Tom said, pushing off from the bar and switching his bottle to his other hand so he could greet the man properly. “Thought you weren’t coming in until tomorrow.”

“That  _ was _ the plan originally but I opted to be  _ spontaneous _ . So…here I am!”

“Brilliant.” Tom forced a smile and started to turn towards the girl at his side. “Draco Malfoy, this is my housemate—“

_ “Hermione?” _

She froze, her back towards the two men and her spine stiff and straight having not made it nearly far enough away before she was caught. Slowly, painfully, Hermione turned back around and met Tom’s eyes first – the look he was giving her could generously be described as an intense level of confusion for what she could only assume was a  _ multitude _ of reasons. She gave him a tight, nearly pained smile, and shifted her gaze to that of her ex-boyfriend: Draco Malfoy.

_ “Hermione Granger?  _ Is that  _ YOU _ ?” Draco asked in plain astonishment, all but forgetting about Riddle to approach the small woman instead. “Well, well, well. So  _ this _ is where you disappeared to.”

Hermione let out a forced chuckle. 

“Yup! It’s me. Here I am!” She held her arms out in a sweeping gesture and let them flop back down to smack against her sides. Everything about her posture was stiff and tense and entirely too uncomfortable all at once. “Well, it was great seeing you again Draco, but I’ve really got to—“

“No, no, no, wait just a tick! You can’t leave now! Hermione, it’s been ages!”

She sucked her teeth for a second before shaking her head. “Yeah, really only a few years.”

“Well, it’s  _ felt _ like ages.” 

Draco moved in closer to her, his hand reaching towards her cheek and she did well not to blatantly jerk away and just deflected it with a poorly angled hand hold. If she had the second to spare to observe, she would have seen Tom start to step forward but apparently think better of it and instead just stand oddly in the background to the couple’s reunion with a tension in his shoulders.

“What are you actually doing… _ here _ , Draco?” Hermione asked somewhat politely while repositioning herself to increase her personal space bubble and rotate around the man to come back closer to her housemate. She looked at Tom with that same tight smile that had appeared on her face since the arrival of the other man. “I didn’t know you knew each other.”

“Yes, well, there’s apparently a whole mess of things we don’t actually know about one another,” Tom replied sharply, his tone much colder than it’d been minutes before. It earned him an odd look from Hermione that he didn’t acknowledge with anything more than a pointed sip of his drink.

“Abraxas is my cousin,” Draco said.

“Ah. Of course he is.”

_ That should have been obvious. How many pale, pointy Englishmen could there be that were nearly so beautiful it hurt? _

Hermione was mentally kicking herself for never having mustered the courage to ask outright about her suspicion that the two might at least  _ know _ each other if not be related. She’d been afraid of this outcome.

“He neglected to mention you in our last conversation,” Draco said, eying her appreciatively.

“Well,” Hermione smiled in that way one practiced in the art of retail sales does, and waved a hand dismissively, “I am a  _ very _ new addition to the cool kids club so it just slipped his mind, I’m sure.”

“More like he’s aiming for you for himself and didn’t want me to know that my perfect woman waltzed right into his home.”

Tom’s hand tightened on his Fresca.

At that, Hermione snorted and her polite visage was replaced by something much, much less friendly. 

“’ _ Perfect woman _ ’, eh? Last I checked – which was, coincidentally, about a few years ago right before we stopped shagging – your perfect woman was apparently stupid, leggy, and blond with a fanny the size of an airplane hangar.”

Draco’s charming smile dropped immediately and he looked over at Tom who’d been listening intently, only to quickly take another drink of his beverage as though he hadn’t just heard Hermione call out some other woman as a whore.

“Excuse us a moment,” said Draco.

Tom nodded and watched as Malfoy coaxed Hermione – who rolled her eyes  _ quite _ dramatically – off several paces away to a quieter portion of the bar to speak to her.

“Mm mm  _ mm _ .”

Tom didn’t need to look to know it was Blaise at his side. He heard the man take a loud gulp of his booze and saw a blur of movement out of the corner of his eye while his gaze was seemingly locked onto the couple conversing. 

“Do you not have  _ anything _ better to do?” Tom groused.

“Something better than watching the drama unfold? Not particularly. You  _ are _ the DD though and the night is still young, so I suppose I could just get utterly trashed instead and have you carry me home.”

“If you can’t make it to the car on your own, you’re sleeping it off or stumbling home by yourself. You know the rules.”

“Yeah, yeah.” Blaise waved him off and took a drink. “What’s all that about?”

Tom grimaced. “Not terribly sure.”

Blaise watched Tom watching Hermione for several seconds before he nudged the man lightly. “You going to go do something about it?”

“What?” Tom asked sharply and jerked more upright. He shifted on his feet from one to the other until he looked like something resembling ‘casually comfortable’ against the bar. “No, of course not. That--“ He pointed with his Fresca. “--is none of  _ my _ bloody business.”

“Mmhm,” Blaise hummed with an unconvinced tone. “Right. The truth will set you free, Tom Riddle.”

Another moment passed and Blaise followed Tom’s line of sight as his grimace grew more prominent only to see their roomie smiling and chuckling with what was quite possibly the world’s largest asshole. He watched Tom’s tattooed knuckles start to turn white around the bottle when the couple leaned in for a hug and her arms snaked around the blond beneath his rather posh looking leather jacket. When her hands went so far as to dance over the man’s rear, Blaise was convinced he heard the audible snap of Tom’s temper.

Blaise leaned in and clapped a hand on Tom’s shoulder, whispering in his ear, “You might want to stop staring so hard at them then.”

Startled, having forgotten Blaise was even there, Tom downed the rest of his beverage with a scowl. Turning his back on Abraxas’ idiot cousin and his stupid frizzy haired not-girlfriend, he demanded another.

“Small,  _ small _ world, isn’t it?” Draco’s voice purred with delight, returning from his side chat with Hermione.

Tom resisted looking at Draco again, knowing the glower on his face was much less than friendly. 

“Yeah, really, fancy that.” When Draco put in his order and Tom didn’t hear any smart remark from Hermione, he did finally glance up.

“Where’s Hermione?” Blaise asked.

“Went to powder her nose and all that.” Draco waved dismissively and changed the subject, motioning to the heavily inebriated girl getting set up on the mic to sing along to the bouncing ball on the karaoke screen. “Judging from the imbibing of alcohol, I take it I already missed your set?”

Tom grunted.

“You wouldn’t be wrong,” Blaise singsonged but changed the subject  _ back _ , “You know her?”

 

_. ~ . _

_ Right now, he's probably slow dancing with a bleached-blonde tramp and she's probably getting frisky! _

_ ‘ ~ ‘ _

 

Draco smirked and gave the other man a little waggle of his brows. “ _ Biblically. _ ”

“She never mentioned you,” Tom said in point of fact.

The harshness of his statement appeared to surprise all three of them.

 

_. ~ . _

_ Right now, he's probably buying her some fruity little drink 'cause she can't shoot whiskey! _

‘ ~ ‘

 

“We didn’t part ways on the best of terms,” Draco said with a shrug. “How is it you’ve managed to shack up with the Queen Bitch now, anyway?”

Blaise stiffened and Tom looked up from his new drink, eyes dark. 

“Sorry, what?” 

_ Shack up. Draco thought they were dating? And he  _ **_still_ ** _ hit on her… _

 

_. ~ . _

_ Right now, he's probably up behind her with a pool-stick showing her how to shoot a combo— _

_ ‘ ~ ‘ _

 

“Hermione. How did  _ that _ happen? More importantly, how do you stand living with the Siren?”

Tom straightened pulling a good few inches over Draco, looming. “She’s  _ just _ my housemate.”

“Ah.” Draco grinned. “Dodged a bullet with that one then, mate.”

 

_. ~ . _

_ And he don't kno—w _

_ ‘ ~ ‘ _

 

Tom had abandoned his drink at this point and was staring –  _ hard _ – down at Draco who seemed to be much more interested in the girl drunkenly swaying along to her little song up on stage, even going so far as to catch her eye. She sent him a playful wink.

 

_. ~ . _

_ I dug my key into the side of his pretty little souped up four wheel drive! _

_ Carved my name into his leather seat! _

_ I took a Louisville slugger to both headlights, slashed a hole in all four tires! _

_ Maybe next time, he'll think before he cheats— _

_ ‘ ~ ‘ _

 

“Why do you say that?” The words came from Tom in a slow, dangerous cadence.

Draco was too preoccupied to notice. 

“I’m going to take a wild leap and guess that you don’t really date much, Tom.”

 

_. ~ . _

_ Right now, she's probably up singing some white-trash version of Shania karaoke. _

_ ‘ ~ ‘ _

 

“You wouldn’t be wrong about that either,” Blaise piped up. He was inching towards a new interest and amusement in the conflict unfolding before him.

“As birds go, she’s really the worst kind.”

“ _ She’s _ the worst kind?” Tom asked in disbelief, sneering at the man. “ _ Hermione Granger _ is? And how d’you figure?”

 

_. ~ . _

_ Right now, she's probably saying "I'm drunk" and he's thinking that he's gonna get lucky. _

_ ‘ ~ ‘ _

 

A wide grin spread across Blaise’s face as he spectated. 

This was  _ so _ much better than reality television. 

If he were a betting man, he would have put money on someone being punched out at  _ any _ moment. He wasn’t, but he still expected it at any rate – nobody really cared much for Abraxas’ cousin anyhow.

“Well, you’ve thankfully only seen her in a flatmate setting. When you’re  _ with  _ her though?” Draco gave a dramatic shudder and went right into waving at the girl on stage. “Hell, it’s  _ awful. _ ”

 

_. ~ . _

_ Right now, he's probably dabbing on three dollars’ worth of that bathroom Polo—! _

_ ‘ ~ ‘ _

 

The expression on Tom’s face was priceless.

And bordering on murderous.

Blaise slurped noisily from a straw he’d plunked into his whisky sour and studied the intense way that Tom’s lips were curled off his bared teeth as they ground together with an awful bone on bone sound. The man’s shoulders were back, chest puffed out, and the best part was that he hadn’t even  _ realized _ he was doing it.

Blaise was barely containing his tittering.

 

_. ~ . _

_ Oh and he don't kno—w! Oh—! _

_ ‘ ~ ‘ _

 

“Why Draco,  _ whatever  _ do you mean?” prompted Blaise with delinquent delight.

Draco snorted. 

“She never wants to do anything fun. Just likes to sit about.  _ Reading. _ Or  _ talking. _ ” He rolled his eyes. “She’d rather lay around in the sun or under a tree and just lie next to you doing positively  _ nothing _ than take a nice evening out to the cinema and snog in the dark! She’s absolutely barmy!”

The way the vein on the side of Tom’s head started to pump oh-so-angrily had Blaise grinning.

“She’s going to school for  _ Library Science _ , you know!”

“I  _ do _ , actually.” The words came gruffly from grit teeth.

“I mean, who  _ DOES _ that? She acts as though we’re not moving into the technological age and all these bloody ‘books’ won’t be completely insignificant or obsolete in a handful of years. Ridiculous, I tell you! She had such a promising career track when I met her.”

 

_. ~ . _

_ That I dug my key into the side of his pretty little souped up four wheel drive! _

_ Carved my name into his leather sea—t! _

_ ‘ ~ ‘ _

 

Blaise heard Tom’s knuckles crack with the tightening of his fists. 

With his eyes still on his friend, he remarked, “It’s not, really. It’s actually still a very viable program. Anywhere that requires the use of massive cataloguing systems might look to employ someone that has a specialty in—“

“Oh sod off,” Draco interrupted with another dismissive wave. “Now you sound just like her. You know what  _ was _ amazing about dating her, though?” he asked wistfully.

Tom’s arms twitched like he were seconds away from throttling the man and Blaise, almost jumped at the opportunity to ask,  _ “What?” _

“Kinky. As.  _ Fuck. _ ”

“The  **_FUCK_ ** did you just say?” Tom snarled.

 

_. ~ . _

_ I took a Louisville slugger to both headlights! _

_ Slashed a hole in all four tires! _

_ Maybe next time, he'll think before he cheats! _

_ ‘ ~ ‘ _

 

“Yeah, I know, right? She doesn’t look it, but she’s bloody a- _ maze- _ ing beneath the sheets! Shite, she was a goddess in bed. I never knew I could—“

Tom had turned a shade of red the likes of which had no name and the game had gone from fun to “impending murder” in a manner of moments. 

He shouldn’t have egged it on even to this point, but Blaise had never seen Tom act in such a way – certainly not towards any girl. 

_ Ah, young love. _

He sighed inwardly. 

_ Still… _

“Malfoy, you should stop,” Blaise warned.

 

_. ~ . _

_ I might've saved a little trouble for the next girl! _

_ 'Cause the next time that he chea—ts… _

_ Oh, you know it won't be on me… _

_ No, ohhhh… _

_ Not on me... _

_ ‘ ~ ‘ _

 

“TMI, I know, sorry,” Draco chuckled and took a swig of his beer. “I just get caught up thinking on it.” He shivered. “Bloody fucking  _ hell _ it was worth it.”

Tom’s tattooed arm was quickly coming into view, his hand open and ready to reach for the man’s lapels when the pub’s back door slammed open and a familiar voice flooded the room.

**“** **_'Cause I dug my key into the side of his pretty little souped up four wheel drive—!“_ **

Hermione’s thick, sultry words reached the bar’s patrons and several heads turned sharply. 

The girl on stage stopped singing and even Tom paused mid-grasp for Draco’s coat to find the source of that dangerous voice.

The raw intensity behind her every word carried out above the noisy din of the bar, crisp and clear. 

The ferocity in her step and confidence in her stride made the three of them in their group at the bar stand straight and at attention, not to mention the prominent set of chills that swept down Tom’s arms and prickled his inked flesh.

Her dark eyes were ignited with an enraged fire that Tom had only seen glints of during some of their first verbal spars; he could almost feel the heat of it from where he stood.

And that very stare was zeroed in on the one…

…the only…

_ Draco Malfoy. _

**_“Carved my name into his leather seats—”_** Hermione’s top lip curled off her teeth and she gave him what could only be described as a wicked, _wicked_ smile.

Draco stared at the petite woman sauntering towards them – towards  _ him  _ – his eyes wide and a growing sense of dread forming in the pit of his stomach. 

He had been, at first, confused as to why she’d come in from the bar’s back door and not the bathroom as he’d expected.

That confusion swiftly dissipated, however, when she held up an object that looked suspiciously like his diamond studded Lamborghini key fob in one delicate little hand.

And then she laughed. 

Draco’s hands flew to his back pockets and found them woefully empty.

_ And Draco Malfoy’s skin grew three shades paler that day,  _ Blaise thought merrily, sipping his liquor.

Sneering, Hermione chucked the fob at Draco only to have it hit his chest in a fumbled catch.

She spread her arms out wide at her sides and snarled in booming song.

**_“I took a Louisville slugger to BOTH headlights! Slashed a hole in ALL four tires! Maybe next time he'll think before he cheats—!“_ **

Hermione stopped still several paces away, still glaring at her ex -- who was looking extremely ill all of a sudden -- and faltered when she caught sight of the man at Draco’s side who was staring at her, slack jawed in astonishment and awe.

The anger and rage at having seen her prick of an ex melted away when she realized where she was and  _ who _ exactly was there watching her.

Hermione’s gaze shifted to the side and she cursed in embarrassment, turning on her heel and full on running out of the bar.

“Granger!” Tom found his voice somewhere between her pivoting  _ toward  _ the exit and actually being  _ gone. _ “Shite—Granger, wait!”

Blaise watched Tom run after Hermione and took another loud slurp of his booze. 

“Well, that’s just adorable.”

“ _ WHERE _ did she go??”

A familiar face was pressing in on him all of a sudden from nowhere and it took Blaise a second or two to process it.

_ Ah. _

_ Pansy. _

“Where’s Abraxas?” Blaise ignored her question for one of his own.

“He’s getting cleaned up in the bathroom. Now  _ WHERE _ -did-she- _ GO? _ ”

“Out?”

“Where is she  _ heading _ , Zabini?!” Pansy demanded with a stomp of her foot.

Blaise blinked. “I’ve no clue.”

Pansy scoffed and shoved the now nearly sobbing Draco aside, nudging him until he was left leaning on the counter in shock while staring at his shiny fob. “I HAVE to find her!”

“Well. She’s our roommate. I  _ suppose _ I can give her a message.”

The girl brightened as though someone had just flipped on the sun. She reached past Blaise and snatched up a bar napkin, patting around her pockets until she found one of her nubby makeup pencils then scribbled out her name and number onto it. 

Thrusting it into Blaise’s hands, Pansy gave him a  _ so _ serious look and said, “Have her call me. A-S-A-P. Got it?”

Blaise eyed the napkin where she’d written her digits and a message that literally read:  _ “CALL ME!!! A-S-A-P!!!!’ _ ”

“I  _ know _ your phone number, Pans—”

“HAVE  **_HER_ ** CALL ME!”

“Uh…yeah, sure. I will.” 

He wouldn’t.

Pansy let out a relieved noise and ran back over to a corner of the room where a black haired man and a wavy haired blond woman sat together, both looking equally uninterested at the going-ons of their surroundings. She immediately started chattering at the only male in their party with many – far too animated – gestures.

“Did you hear her, Theo?!” Pansy flailed. “She’s exactly what we’ve been looking for! She’s our acappella Cinderella!”

 


	16. Chapter 16

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  **Aca-Playlist:** 21 Guns by Green Day (American Idiot Musical Version)

 “Bloody stupid…” Hermione was grumbling to herself and swiping at her eyes, trying to head off any moisture before it had a chance to gather in the corners of them. “…fucking Malfoy…god-fucking- _dammit!”_

She’d ran as far as she could from the bar in whatever direction it was that was **_away_ ** and found herself somewhere between the recycling plant and Tom’s house.

 _Her_ _house too_ , she thought.

She paid rent, dammit.

She was picking a careful path on the top of a retaining wall overlooking a small body of water which she wasn’t entirely sure _what_ to define as. Whatever it was, it looked...questionable.

Hermione hesitated when she realized where she’d landed herself and found she wasn’t at all sure of where she wanted to go. She could head back to the house, but with Malfoy in town and being Abraxas’ cousin and all, she wasn’t sure if she was going to be seeing the git again that evening or not.

The longer she could go _existing_ without seeing that son of a bitch, the better.

Hermione was conflicted.

And so she sighed, kicking at the tiny rocks that’d somehow ended up on top of the wall, wondering how they even got up there and not realizing for a long while that she was humming and singing softly under her breath. As soon as she noticed it, she groaned and tossed her arms up in the air.

“Bugger this shite,” she muttered. “He _has_ to be a singer, doesn’t he? It’s like it follows me…wherever I bloody go…”

Hermione continued shuffling along the cement barrier, stifling herself every time she realized what she was humming until she finally growled and shouted out into the night sky as if there were some karmic beast laughing down at her.

 _“FINE!_ ”

Nobody was around and it always _had_ made her feel better when she was growing up…

What the hell, right?

 

* * *

 

Tom huffed and turned circles when he reached the end of the alleyway.

He was _SURE_ he’d seen her come this way, heard her frantic footfalls on the cobbles.

Snarling to himself, he ran a hand back through his hair, little chunks of his gelled locks finally finding some freedom and squirreling loose in all sorts of directions at the move.

_Where the fuck would she go? She doesn’t have anywhere else BUT the house now._

That thought struck him. _Hard_ **_._ **

It made the back of his tongue dry out and a sour taste bubble up from his gut.

He supposed he should check there…he just couldn’t think of anywhere else that—

**_“Do you know what’s worth fighting for…”_ **

Tom stopped in his tracks, not entirely sure he heard what he thought he had.

If it was what he thought it was, though...

**_“When it’s not worth dying for…”_ **

…it was fucking beautiful.

A shiver ran through him.

She was there.

_Right there._

It was Hermione…

…and she was singing.

Like a dark angel dancing through the stars, he just couldn’t take his eyes off of her.

**_“Does it take your breath away and you feel yourself suffocating?”_ **

_Yes…it does. I do._

He watched her, entranced, throat dry and eyes wide.

She had her back to him and was taking slow, careful steps along the retaining wall as her soft, sweet melody drifted out into the night air.

**_“Does the pain weigh out the price? And you look for a place to hide...”_ **

Tom padded after her as silently as he could, finding he was stepping with her in time to the beat she kept so flawlessly. With every movement she made along the wall, he was tugged along by her Siren’s song.

_**“** _ **_Did someone break your heart inside? …you’re in ruins.”_ **

Hermione paused in her steps and turned towards the water. From his vantage point, Tom could see her tilt her head up to the sky, spotted the dried tracks of tears gleaming ever so slightly under the moonlight, and for a moment something in the pit of his stomach dropped and swirled and made all the horrible things that existed in the world pile on his shoulders at the sight of it.

And then she smiled.

**_“One, 21 guns, lay down your arms, give up the fight.”_ **

And the sweetest fucking sounds he’d ever heard sent a jarring shudder through him from head to toe and all he could do was bask in them.

Her foot had started a rhythmic tapping, one hand clenched into a fist that she held over her breast.

He could _hear_ the smile in her voice and his heart physically ached with every soft, serene, almost haunting note.

**_“One, 21 guns, throw up your arms into the sky – you and I—“_ **

Her eyes squinched more tightly shut, both hands folding over the center of her chest now as her octave dropped slightly to take on more power to each heartbreaking word.

**_“When you’re at the end of the road…”_ **

He didn’t even register that he was closing the distance.

**_“And you’ve lost all sense of control…”_ **

He didn’t even think about the fact that he needed to be closer because he just fucking _did._

**_“And your thoughts have taken their toll…”_ **

Her eyes were still closed, feet firmly planted, and she reached a hand out towards the water.

**_“When your mind breaks the spirit of your soul—“_ **

She looked so natural up there somehow; on a stage, in front of an audience that existed only in her imagination, yet one that was burned into the back of his own lids.

**_“Your faith walks on broken glass…”_ **

She was so small; such a delicate stretch of woman that could send men to their knees with nothing but a sonnet.

**_“And the hangover doesn’t pass…”_ **

Her arms were splayed out at her sides and her voice could have carried for miles.

**_“Nothing’s ever built to last! You’re in ru—ins.”_ **

She was so fucking beautiful standing there, calling out to the night.

**_“One, 21 guns, lay down your arms, give up the fight.”_ **

All of it was exactly why he had to get closer.

**_“One, 21 guns, throw up your arms into the sky.”_ **

Tom swallowed, reached out a hand and, really, he just couldn’t help the next words that escaped him.

Or how they harmonized with hers perfectly.

_**“** _ **_You and I--“_ **

Hermione gasped and turned sharply at the new voice. She teetered, nearly toppled, but Tom was there, both hands reaching out to steady her atop the wall. Her fingers dug into his arms tightly enough that the spots not covered by ink paled under their pressure.

Tom saw her start to shut down, he saw it in her face. Her eyes were huge, her throat bobbed with nerves, and a deep flush spread across the tops of her cheeks. As quickly as he could, he shook his head and didn’t dare speak above a whisper lest he shatter everything in that moment.

“Don’t stop,” he urged, “please, don’t stop...”

She gulped again and held his eyes, shaky, unsure and at a loss of how this sort of encounter was supposed to go. Hermione could feel the tears from before coupled with new tears of embarrassment pooling in the corners of her eyes. Making a decision, Hermione shut them tightly and spoke to him in this funny language that they both somehow understood.

 **_“Did you?”_ ** she breathed nervously.

 **_“Did you try to live on your own?”_ ** And he met her every step of the way.

 ** _“When you—”_** Her eyes cracked open at the smooth sound that filled the air between them.

Tom felt his mouth tilting in a lopsided grin when she caught his stare once more. **_“When you burned down the house and home—“_ **

Her response was a deeper blush and a smirk that colored her words. **_“Did you stand too close to the fire?”_ **

Tom’s grip on her forearms tightened and he watched her swell with more confidence.

He was sure his heart flipped when her voice sang out and mingled with his own, _**“**_ ** _Like a liar looking for forgiveness—”_ **

He tugged her towards him with the same smile that had greeted her at the end of his set earlier that evening and she let herself fall from the wall into his arms. Tom caught her with ease, shifting his hold to her waist once she came into reach and giving her a half spin before setting her firmly on her feet.

He’d not actually realized how much shorter she was until he was smoothing errant curls from her cheek, the top of her head not even clearing his shoulder.

Hermione’s lids fluttered and she found herself leaning into the warm brush of his knuckles.

 ** _“…from a stone…”_**   The last of her breathy words faded into the stillness of the cool night air.

When Hermione realized he was still holding her – rather closely for roommates – she increased the distance between them as politely as possible.

Coaxing his hands back to his sides and immediately missing the warmth, Hermione asked quietly, “What are you doing here?”

“Came to keep you from running off,” he replied coolly.

Tom stifled the frown that was edging towards the surface and had to shove his hands into his pockets to keep them from twitching forward to fix that mane of hers again. He shrugged as it was became obvious she was very willing to let the fact that something… _strange_ had just happened between them, drop like a cart full of lead weights.

“Seeing as how I had to chase you, though, guess it didn’t work.”

She chuckled and it was awkward.

And vulnerable.

And he didn’t like it.

“21 Guns?” he asked and watched her eyes flick up to look at him beneath her lashes – he was extremely _not_ willing to let it drop. “Has anyone ever told you that you’re a bit dramatic?”

Hermione laughed softly, giving him a shrug. “I’ll let mum and dad know the lessons paid off then.”

“What was all that back there, Granger?”

She sighed and ran a hand over her temple, tucking the strand that kept taunting Tom back behind her ear.

“I have been known to make poor decisions when I’m slightly inebriated.”

“So…Malfoy?”

“If only _that_ one could be explained away so easily.” He chuckled at her and it brought back the pleasant tingling warmth from before. “No, that one was just an unfortunate and sober decision.”

The tight, strained air that always seemed to roll in when they were left alone, pressed in with a vengeance.

Tom did his best to avoid it this time around.

“You can sing,” he said in a way that was so obviously not a question anymore.

“Yeah,” she sighed, defeated. “And dance and play some instruments. I can do a lot of things. Got a whole little degree in musical theatre and all that rot.”

He raised an eyebrow, impressed and utterly confused all at once.

“Is that why you’re out here? Why you’re—“ Tom hesitated on the word homeless and maneuvered in another direction. “Your parents kicked you out because of it?”

Hermione blinked at him, wide eyed for a second then chortled, shattering the unpleasant mood that’d been creeping in. “ _Fuck_ no! Quite the opposite actually.”

“What?” His brows furrowed. “So…your parents—“

“Very happily supplied all the funding I could ever have asked for to go to school for musical theatre.” At his even more confused and completely _lost_ expression, Hermione let out a bitter, tired laugh.

“It was their idea! They’re dentists and whatall… they grew up with the whole ‘get a practical job’ rubbish from their own parents and didn’t want to force that upon their only daughter. So, instead, they went nutter in the _opposite_ direction. They _love_ the arts. They only ever wanted me to do something ‘fun.’” Hermione scrunched her nose in distaste. “Never mind my idea of fun was reading and revising and being bloody _brilliant_ at maths. They actually kicked me out because I finally stood up for myself and told them I wanted to be a LIBRARIAN!

“’Well if THAT’S how you want to waste your life,’ they said, ‘we’ll have no part in it!’ And then they cut me off and kicked me out. Simple as that.”

Tom stood, frozen, with a disbelieving look on his face.

It felt like ages before he thawed and looked the most disgruntled Hermione had ever seen him.

“That is the biggest pile of—what, are your parents from the bleedin’ _Twilight Zone?_ Is it Freaky Friday? Did they switch places with every other parent in the universe to be entirely arse backwards? That’s such _horseshite!”_

Hermione blinked and the smile that crept onto her face felt ghastly and inappropriate in the face of his animated and angry expression. She averted her eyes and laughed softly. “Yeah, well…what can you really do?”

Tom huffed – _he_ **_huffed_ ** – and Hermione almost snorted at the sound. He was quiet again for a while but when she looked up, one of his hands had come free from his pocket and was reaching for her again.

“Well…anyway…you were very good...”

Hermione exhaled a breath she hadn’t realized she was holding onto until his fingertips were oh so lightly trailing over her cheek.

He was just so damn warm she could’ve died. **_Right_ ** there.

“Thank you.” It was hardly a whisper and she could have sworn he was warmer…or…getting warmer…or closer…definitely closer.

Tom’s eyes darted down to her slightly parted mouth and he felt his dry out. “Hermione—“

Whatever Tom had been meaning to say was interrupted by a loud whooping of a siren and the street they’d been walking on was flooded with flashing blue and white lights.

The two of them broke apart in shock, turning towards the source of the noise to see who the fuck had interrupted… _whatever_ the hell it was that kept trying to happen between them.

Hermione held up an arm to block out the brunt of the light, but managed to squint around it and noticed the number on the side of the squad car; she groaned.

“Wonderful.” With an almost regretful look at Tom, Hermione sighed, turned on the balls of her feet and held both of her hands up in clear visibility at the sides of her head. Glancing at him, she said, “You should probably head home, Tom. I’ll be back in…well seventy-two hours if I’m lucky.”

His face twisted in confusion. “What do you—“

“Miss Granger,” a distinctly Scottish brogue called out. “Fancy meeting you out here this evening.”

“Officer Moody,” Hermione chirped with a forced smile. “Good to see you again. How’s the family?”

The officer, who really resembled more of a gnarled tree trunk with an eyepatch than anything else, let out a low, grating sigh. “Good. They’re good.” He spoke with one hand at his belt hovering over the butt of his gun and the other reaching back for his handcuffs. Moody nodded towards Tom. “You’ll want to move away from her, son.”

“But—“

Hermione shrugged and gave Tom a reassuring smile.

“Go on, I’ll be fine. Oh, but if you can, see if you can get a copy of notes from my classes? My schedule’s posted on a corkboard in my room. And um…cover for me at the shop if you can?” She turned back to the officer and was very careful not to move otherwise. “Charges?”

Moody grunted, took one of her wrists in his hand and tightened one end of the metal cuffs around it as he started to fit her into her shiny new bracelets.

“Drunk in public. Vandalism. Verbal assault.”

Hermione snorted at that. _“Verbal assault._ I _sang_. Last I checked I wasn’t a tone deaf harpy.”

Officer Moody shook his head and looked very much as if he were trying to stifle a chuckle. “You have the right to remain silent…”

Tom watched as the police officer finished cuffing her and moved her into his squad car, nodding to him before disappearing into the night with his roomie in the back of his vehicle. Tom just stood, dumbfounded, for several long, _long_ minutes before another car pulled up with a man he sort of recognized carting his completely sloshed friends in the back seat.

The other dark haired man with very striking blue eyes rolled down the window.

“Tom Riddle, right?” the man asked with a noticeable accent -- German if Tom were to hazard a guess.

Tom grimaced in the direction of the police station and looked back to the car. “Who’s asking?”

“Theodore Nott,” the man -- Theodore, apparently -- said, extending his hand through the window in greeting.

Tom shook his hand, nodded, then leaned in to peer at his slobbering drunk friends to inquire, “Might I ask why you have my idiots in the back of your vehicle, Theodore?”

“Public service,” he said. “They were nearly into causing just as much of a ruckus as your lady friend and, in the interest of not allowing fellow _‘aca-bitches’,_ as Pansy would say, to join her on the path to incarceration, I thought I’d get them home. This one—“ Theodore pointed to Blaise who was resting his chin on the side of the driver’s seat, making googly eyes at Tom and muttering ‘so pretty’ into the new man’s shoulder while they conversed. “—however, wouldn’t go anywhere without finding you first. So here we are.” After a second, he added, “We followed the flashing lights.”

_“Tom, I’ve got Hermy—Hermsss…I’ve got Granger’s backpack!”_

Tom narrowed his eyes at Blaise who was drooling on Theodore whilst hugging Hermione’s overstuffed and broken backpack. He then looked at Marcus and Abraxas who were giggling and intermittently smacking at each other, pretending they _“totally”_ weren’t doing just that.

He rubbed the bridge of his nose in exasperation. “Yeaaah... Sorry about that.”

“Don’t be sorry. Just get in the car and tell me where I’m going before they wet the upholstery.”

“Right.”

**Author's Note:**

> Come hang out with me on the social medias! o_o
> 
>  **Twitter:** @lechegomyeggo  
>  **Tumblr:** dulce-de-leche-go  
> 
> 
> **Update as of 3/20/2018:** Just to let folks know, life has all but swallowed me whole at the moment! I'm attempting to keep up with my modest update schedule of once a week on this story for now but I'm having to spend a lot of time on stuff managing my personal health lest I end up in a bad spot so...yeah. Check Tumblr for any breaking news updates. Olive juice.  <3


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